


Long September

by adrabbler



Series: Historical Hetalia [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5898157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrabbler/pseuds/adrabbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France is currently in a relationship with Germany, which England is indiscreetly trying to break apart. France is in a dilemma: he loves both of them. He's grown weary about his on-off past relationship he had with England, but can't deny that he misses him terribly whereas he wants to give his relationship with Germany (which seems to be doing fairly well) a chance.</p><p>Both love France in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. France

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I made back in September 2010 for the kink meme, and continues to be one of my favourite works, regardless of how cheesy it is. As with most of my other works, this one was also made during real-time news events back in 2010. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)

France poured himself bland Slovakian coffee into a cup. It was good to be back in Bratislava. They had just taken a break from the meeting and he left Germany to talk with the other members of the EU. He smiled to himself. The negotiations for new austerity measures went fairly well, considering that they were dealing with fellow European countries. Europe had always had a hard time agreeing with each other. If they were lucky, they could get past this Euro crisis before 2012 comes in.  
  
"I can't understand what you see in that kraut."  
  
France looked up and saw England, glaring into his cup of tea as he sat behind the pantry table. They were the only ones there. England looked up at him, still glaring, but this time France could clearly see the hurt in his eyes.  
  
Throughout the whole meeting, England had been expounding the virtues of keeping their own currencies in connection to sovereignty and instances such as what had happened recently, further making the meeting more depressing than it already was. Germany had respected his decision to keep the Pound, although the Great British Pound would have added to the Euro's monetary potency. They had tried to convince him, but the island nation stayed steadfast.  
  
Now, he was merely trying to be obnoxious. Just recently, he had started supporting Turkey's accession to the EU in opposition to France and Germany. Ever since he became a member, he'd made it a point to be frequently in the opposition, with Ireland occasionally joining his cause.  
  
Germany had been patient. He rationalized that England was doing it for the interests of his nation. France knew better.  
  
He tried his best at a kind smile. "Angleterre, you shouldn't give Allemagne such a hard time."  
  
England scoffed and looked away, his brows slightly quivering as though he was trying to stop himself from crying. "Typical of you to switch alliances when it's convenient."  
  
France internally frowned at that, but tried to keep the conversation light. "The others seem to think differently, _Albion_."  
  
England's teacup banged on the table, causing France to jump. "You think this is a _joke_?" he snarled.  
  
France's brows knitted together. He didn't want to discuss this. He really didn't. "Anglettere--"  
  
The other nation stood up and slammed his open palm against the table. "I never thought you of all people would have such short memory." He bit his lip. "Don't you remember what he did to you? Don't you remember how you almost died when--"  
  
"What I've experienced in his hands is comparable to what I've experienced under yours," France cut in coldly. He didn't want to do it, but England was treading on dangerous ground. They had agreed to not mention it anymore. "But I've forgiven him just as I've forgiven you."  
  
England looked at him hopelessly, fighting his hardest against the tears as he limply sat back down. He crossed his arms on his chest. "What now? You're going to follow him around faithfully like a dog?"  
  
"I believe the proper term is _partners_ , Anglettere."  
  
The seated nation laughed humourlessly as he looked into his cup. "Do you really think he'll see you as a partner?"  
  
France sighed, hand running down his face as he leaned on the counter. "What are you trying to do?"  
  
"You know exactly what I'm trying to do."  
  
France sighed heavily and looked out the window. He took a sip of his coffee and winced. "It will never work. We've tried and we've failed. Countless times."  
  
"Maybe we haven't tried enough."  
  
He looked at England warily. "You know we have."

Indeed, they have. There were countless times when they could have done better. There were many chances. But each time, they failed. Each time, they just ended up being frustrated, only to try again, and end up hurting each other again. They didn't know what was wrong. For the life of him, France really wanted to know. They didn't lack in love--at least he thinks they didn't. They give their all but everything keeps falling apart.  
  
And France, well...he was already _exhausted_.  
  
"But you still love me." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.  
  
_Yes._  
  
It was a miracle how they remained in love even after hurting each other too much. _Over and over and over--_  
  
France dumped the rest of his coffee in the sink. "Allemagne is already looking for me."  
  
He strode out before England could get a word in. He didn't want to be tempted again. He didn't want to be hurt anymore.  
  
No matter how much he loves England.  
  
"Frankreich," Germany said, his face splitting into a warm loving grin, despite the apparent exhaustion in his face, as France entered the conference room.  
  
He embraced the taller man and was shyly embraced back. He still wasn't so used to open intimacy even after a few years into the relationship.  
  
France smiled to himself amidst the warmth Germany provided him. He could get used to this.  
  
"Tired?"  
  
"Very," he said, leaning on the younger nation, his chest feeling comfortably warm. He is happy here. With Germany.  
  
Germany kissed the top of his head. "We will go home soon. I still have a lot of work to do in Frankfurt."  
  
France chuckled into the other nation's shoulder. It was typical of him to leave work to go home for _more_ work. "You're not working tonight. I'm going to cook us something delicious."  
  
He felt the taller man hesitate before he sighed fondly. "All right."  
  
_I could get used to this._  
  
France caught the sight of England from the corner of his eye, entering the conference room with a miserable scowl. He hugged Germany closer to himself and buried his face in the other man's shoulder as he felt his heart squeeze uncomfortably.  
  
If he is really so happy, why does he feel so conflicted?


	2. Germany

Germany's arm was wrapped around France's waist and as they sat on the couch together, listening to music. The other's head was resting on his shoulder.  
  
It seemed like it was only yesterday, when Germany saw France for the first time again after the war, as they started to form the European Coal and Steel Community with Belgium, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and later Italy back in the fifties. Back then, he had not thought that the EU would lay as the cornerstone of their relationship. He had been shy, still ashamed of the havoc his previous boss had wreaked, and France had been accommodating, much to his surprise. The courting wasn't at all fast--Germany had made sure of that. After all, didn't Luxembourg say that France was a romantic? Belgium had suggested that he try to make things as romantic and over-the-top as possible. He wasn't sure if he had achieved over-the-top, but he was sure he was romantic enough. Or at least by _his_ standards. Italy didn't seem as keen in helping him at the time, probably because he had problems of his own to sort out with his economy. Germany paid it no mind, because in the end, France still fell for him. He was particularly proud of his guess on the red roses--because nothing was more romantic than those. He was disappointed though that the other man wasn't so keen on the beer fountain he had given him, even if the stream was heart-shaped and had floating rose petals. It had been the highest quality of German beer too. France's lack of enthusiasm with beer will always be a mystery to him.  
  
At first, he wasn't sure if France had been interested too because his invitations to go out for beer and wurst had been turned down many times, with England, his ex, always looming in his field of vision. It was a relief when the other nation started inviting him out for wine. Even though it wasn't one of his favourite things in the world, being with France made up for it. It boosted his morale significantly and he worked harder in his pursuit until they finally came together after his reunification with his brother (which was also thanks to France's support, among others).  
  
There had been some bumps into the courtship, but admittedly, the period where he experienced the most difficulty was during the first enlargement of the EU in the 70's. And England, who would later turn out to be his greatest critic from within the group, had joined after being denied membership twice by France. He had continued to hover around France's general area ever since, hindering Germany's romantic efforts. It would be a lie if he said that he didn't feel insecure whenever France and England would talk. They'd had a lot of history between them that Germany couldn't possibly hope to top. In truth, he regretted agreeing to letting England join a few years after the accession, but rationalized that his prowess would do good to the members of the EU. He just hoped that the man would grow out of his habit of being cynical. It was too bad that he didn't show any signs of doing so any time soon. Sometimes, he felt that England was getting in the way a little, not only in the EU but also his relationship with France.  
  
But here he was now, with France in his arms, sitting on his couch and listening to Edith Piaf. He was content. It was nights like these that made working hard for the EU and debating against an irate England all worth it.

He sighed and kissed France on the head. The other looked up at him and pecked him on the lips.  
  
"We should always spend time like this," France said into his lips. Germany blushed as he felt the other's grin. "You are more affectionate when we are alone and when Italie and the crisis do not hog your attention."  
  
He coughed. "We are both busy because of the recession. It cannot be helped."  
  
France pouted. "Mon chou, even without the recession, you are _always_ busy." He kissed his jaw. "Sometimes it would seem that you love work more than you love me."  
  
"That's not true," he said with a smile, tightening his embrace on France. "There is just too much work to do with the recession. Did you know that Irland's deficit has--"  
  
France put a finger on his lips, stopping him. "If you don't focus on me from time to time, I might just cheat on you mon cher," he joked and giggled. "Say you love me?"  
  
He blushed uneasily. He looked at France in the eye. "I love you."  
  
"Ach Gott, you two make me sick!"  
  
They looked up and saw Prussia giving them a disgusted look with his tongue out while holding a beer.  
  
"Jealous, mon ami? Perhaps you would like to join us?"  
  
Germany looked at France incredulously.  
  
Prussia turned green. "No. And stop snuggling there, I drink beer on that couch!"  
  
France pouted at him as he embraced Germany. "If you don't like it, don't look! It is already rare for me to be with Allemagne as it is so don't spoil it!"  
  
"Ja, I'm sure," Prussia said, cringing his nose. "I'm sure West already has a year's supply of disgusting sissiness from you."  
  
France stuck his tongue out at him. "You're just jealous because you're single, mon cher."  
  
"Pffffsh I'm not jealous," he said, making a face. "I'm just worried you'll turn him into a pansy like you. Now get off of him. I worked hard in making him into a tough manly machine and I'm not letting you put all that hard work to waste."  
  
France giggled and traced his finger on Germany's chest. "He is _indeed_ a machine," he purred, kissing his lover on the neck.  
  
Germany's palm covered his blushing face.  
  
Prussia's jaw dropped in horror before he started making barfing noises. "You--You're _sick_!"  
  
"Ost," the youngest nation groaned, his hand still covering his blushing face. "Please give Frankreich and I some privacy."  
  
"Fine," his older brother said, annoyed. He strode out of the room. "Don't you dare have sex on that couch!"  
  
Germany's blush deepened. France giggled and promptly straddled him as soon as he was sure that Prussia was gone.  
  
"Frankreich--"  
  
"Prusse's suggestion doesn't sound so bad, does it, Allemagne?" France purred into his ear.  
  
"B-but--"  
  
"I'll even call you _Deutschland_ , mon cher." France playfully bit his earlobe.

He heard something moderately big and heavy hit France's head hard.  
  
"Merde!" France cursed, falling off of him and clutching his head.  
  
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING FUCK ON THAT FUCKING COUCH!" Prussia shouted, pointing at them from the doorway.  
  
"Ost!" Germany chided him, although he was slightly thankful for the intrusion. He was too tired to have sex tonight.  
  
"I _warned_ him, West. You know I did."  
  
"Zut alors!" France groaned, massaging is head. "Did you have to throw a stool at me?"  
  
"I warned you, pansy!"  
  
"Ost, just go. I promise we will not do anything on the couch other than sitting."  
  
France looked at him as though he had just cancelled Paris fashion week. "B-But--"  
  
Prussia nodded with a stiff posture, almost as if acknowledging a command from his officer, and marched out of sight.  
  
"Cher, you weren't serious, were you?"  
  
Germany smiled at him apologetically. "I am sorry, Frankreich, but work has been very exhausting. Maybe next time?"  
  
France frowned. "We might never get another chance like this."  
  
He chuckled. France--always dramatic. He reached up and caressed the other man's jaw with his knuckle. "There is always next time, mein Schatz. I promise. But for tonight, let us relax. I know you are also tired."  
  
His lover grabbed his hand and kissed it gently. He smiled. "Only because it's you, mon cher." He plopped back to Germany's side and hugged him. Germany embraced back. He wished there could be more days like this. Days like this made his work feel more fulfilling. Not even England's snide remarks could ruin it.  
  
A cellphone ringing broke the peace between them.  
  
France disentangled himself from Germany and fished out the phone from his pocket. "Merde, It's Nicolas," he muttered, a scowl on his face. "What does he want now?"  
  
"You should answer it. It must be important."  
  
France gave him an apologetic smile before he stood up and walked towards the kitchen as he answered the phone. Germany sank back into the couch and watched as France talked to his boss.  
  
This was when he found France the most attractive--when the nation was serious. It always sent a curious feeling down his spine when he saw the other with a no-nonsense attitude as they went about dealing with problems in the EU. It was a side of him that he rarely showed--a side that Germany always loved. It felt like France was showing his real self when he was like this.  
  
France ended the call and walked back towards Germany, annoyance clear on his face as he picked up his jacket.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Allemagne. Nicolas wants me back home early. I have a meeting I have to attend to tomorrow."  
  
His eyebrows rose. "A meeting? Tomorrow?"  
  
"Yes," France sighed. "With _sourcils_ , no less."  
  
Germany pursed his lips. _England again._ "What for?"  
  
"The defence cooperation," France said, putting on his jacket and heading towards the door with Germany. "It's purely for financial reasons. Morin says my presence is vital for the negotiations. Hopefully, it does not last longer than three days."  
  
He wasn't one to keep France from work, even if it was for _England_. "Have a safe trip then," he said, smiling, despite the fact that he didn't know when they'd have free time again. "I will be in the Mediterranean in a few days to see if the austerity plans are working."  
  
"Bien," France said, pecking him on the lips. "I will contact you once I arrive home."  
  
"Tschüs," Germany said as France left. He closed the door and sighed. _England again._ Truthfully, his patience was starting to wear thin.

"He's gone?" Prussia said from behind him.  
  
He sighed. "Yes." He continued his way towards his office.  
  
"Where are you going?" his older brother asked, following him.  
  
"My office."  
  
"But you look tired. You should get some sleep."  
  
"I will be fine. I will finish some left-over work and then I'll go to sleep."  
  
Prussia grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face him. "West, you _never_ have left-over work."  
  
It was true; he didn't. He sighed. "Ost, just let me do my work. I'm not sleepy yet."  
  
His older brother looked at him quizzically for a few moments then sighed and drank his beer. "Fine. Don't sleep too late."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Prussia mussed his hair before he turned and left.  
  
Germany slicked his hair back with a sigh and entered his office.


	3. Canada

"Angleterre is getting on my nerves."  
  
Canada stopped in the middle of breaking an egg into a bowl to look at Belgium as she concentrated on mixing the waffle batter next to him.  
  
"Sometimes I don't understand why he joined us in the first place," she said, brows knitted as she wiped off a stray splatter of batter from her cheek. He was in her house on America's request the week before, because he said he wanted to have pancakes _and_ waffles at the same time and she agreed because America can be such a _sweet sweet boy._ The said sweet boy who was currently in the living room playing video games also happened to be the one who suggested that England join the EU to chase after France, which in restrospect might not have been such a good idea and Canada had _told him so_.  
  
He laughed weakly. "What has he done now?"  
  
She looked up at him with a scowl on her face and dropped the spatula into the bowl. She put her hands on her hips "Do you know how hard it is for Islande to join the EU? And then he and my jerk of a brother Nederland had to go and open their mouths about Icesave so now the poor boy is hesitating." She bit her lip. "Then there's that time he went and gave support to Turquie's accession all of sudden on a whim. And he's stil pressing for it."  
  
Canada said nothing and focused on breaking eggs and beating them in the bowl. This was EU stuff. He isn't supposed to get involved.  
  
"That's not even the end of it. Last week while we were discussing about austerity measures, he had to go and mouth off about Allemagne's solutions not working for Espagne because of the euro and even go as far as imply that the economic crisis in the Mediterranean was all Allemagne's fault. I mean, he does have a point about the fixed currency, but devaluing isn't going to solve everything! And he doesn't have to be a jerk to Allemagne and the euro," she said, throwing her hands up in annoyance and facing the window above the sink. "I'm actually surprised that France's Finance Minister agreed."  
  
_Wait... **agreed**? France's..._  
  
Canada licked his lips and concentrated so hard on mixing flour with the eggs that he could have burnt a hole through the aluminum bowl with just his gaze. He shouldn't ask. It wasn't his business.  
  
"Oh and you know what else he said last week? He said he wanted seperate foreign and defence policies after Allemagne said the EU was a political union.* And I'm sure he's trying to take France with him. I mean, what's the point of suddenly wanting to share toys with France?"  
  
He remained silent. Hopefully, Belgium doesn't notice. He and America heard about it, but paid it no mind--particularly because they really didn't want anything to do with it.  
  
"At least this time, he didn't have anything to say about Estonie joining the Eurozone next year."  
  
She sighed and rested both her palms on the kitchen counter to steady herself as her gaze fell on the window. "Sometimes I think he's just doing this to get on Allemagne's nerves."  
  
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "What do you think is his problem?"  
  
_He wants France for himself and Germany's in the way._ Canada wasn't going to say that out loud though. In truth, he and America had different views on the matter. Canada thought that France is much happier with Germany after observing how their relationship progressed. America, on the other hand, had greater trust in England and thought that France was better off with their former colonizer rather than Germany, whose track record didn't give him that much comfort. It wasn't that America was still sore about WW2, it's just that the war had made him wary of him. He wasn't so trusting after what happened with him and Russia. But all in all, they just both wanted to avoid the issue. They'd already had experiences with delving into European squabbles. They didn't want to experience it again if they can help it.  
  
He shrugged indifferently and didn't look at her. "I don't know. I'm sure he's not up to anything or something like that..."  
  
There was silence for about a full minute wherein he could only hear his heart beating in his chest.

"You know something."  
  
"No I don't," he answered too quickly. _Fuck._ Canada fidgeted under her gaze.  
  
She faced him and crossed her arms on her chest. "If this has something to do with the EU, I need to know."  
  
"I-It has nothing to do with the EU," he said, still not looking at her. England wouldn't do anything stupid that would hurt the EU. At least...he thinks so.  
  
"But it _is_ starting to affect the members. And the candidates."  
  
He gave her a weak smile as he adjusted his glasses. "If you want, I can talk to him in the next commonwealth meeting."  
  
She stared at him for a few seconds. "I want to know what's going on with him. Just a hint will do."  
  
Canada jumped as he felt America drape himself on his shoulders. "Hey whatcha guys talking about? I'm starving already." He didn't even feel him enter the kitchen.  
  
She looked at America quizzically. "Canada is not telling me something."  
  
He guffawed. "You can't expect 'im to share his top-secret pancake recipe with you, right?"  
  
"I'm talking about England," she said, opting to use his English name since America would probably not recognize the French one.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. "What about England?"  
  
She licked her lips and rested one and on the kitchen counter, with the other on her hip. She looked at him. Canada guessed that she was trying her best to structure a question that would definitely yield the answer she was looking for. He wanted to warn his brother but it was impossible with her looking at them both.  
  
She smiled. _Oh God._ They were in trouble now. America was almost as bad a liar as he was.  
  
"What does England have against Germany?"  
  
_Fuck._ He felt America stiffen. It was annoying how observant Belgium could be.  
  
"W-Whaddaya mean?"  
  
Canada resisted the strong urge to slam his palm on his forehead.  
  
Her smile grew into a knowing grin. "So you both know about this."  
  
America put his palms up in front of himself. "Hey, hey I don't even know what you're talkin' about."  
  
"Give it up, America. You still want my waffles, don't you?"  
  
America bit his lip and glanced at Canada.  
  
The northern brother glared at him. _We're not going to get involved in this again. Just say no. She can't use the EU against you anyway._  
  
The other pouted.  
  
Canada gave him a look and then rolled his eyes. It figures that he'd worry about _that_ more than resurfacing childhood trauma. _Fine. I'll find a way to get the recipe and make the waffles for you myself._  
  
America smiled and turned back to Belgium. "Sorry, Belgium. I forgot about a meeting Canada and I have back at home." He laughed. "My Defense Secretary just texted me a minute ago."  
  
Belgium's brows jumped. "Wha--"  
  
He picked up his northern brother and hauled him over his shoulder. "Gotta go. Let's do this again some other time. Really sorry."  
  
Her jaw dropped in outrage but Canada didn't get to hear what she had to say as America bolted at top speed out of the door.  
  
Looks like he'd need to have a talk with England soon before the other EU members close in on them. Hopefully, he wouldn't be grumpy like the last time they talked about it.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> * - UK FM actually said this after the German FM said the EU was a political union.  
> Belgium used the French names here because she was talking to Canada; it's out of politeness. She refers to Netherlands in Dutch because it felt more natural to me.


	4. Germany

Germany concentrated on the EU budget proposal in his hands. Various reports were laid out on his desk; each document was organized according to origin and the nature of the reports they contained. Each colour-coded and stacked in such an orderly fashion that it almost looked like there were mini coloured buildings sitting on the oak desk. He wore the same stoic expression as he scrutinized the budget's capability of supporting the cohesion policy properly next year and where the extra funds would go once the UK's rebates would be reduced. ( _Great, another thing England can complain about._ ) No one would have noticed the turmoil that threatened to erupt from him.  
  
A mug of beer was suddenly put on his desk beside the violet folder that contained Russia's new energy charter proposal to the EU.  
  
"If you're that worried about it, you should have just told Frankreich," Prussia said with knitted brows, a mug of beer in one hand. Well, no one _except Prussia_ would have noticed the turmoil.  
  
"I'm busy," he said curtly and promptly returned his attention to the numbers in front of him. Numbers that he'd been reading repeatedly for a while now.  
  
"West, you've been busy for 68.5 hours straight."  
  
Germany flipped to the next page, the previous one not really registering in his brain. "Polen has asked that the budget be reviewed for--"  
  
Prussia took the document from his hands and threw it over his head. The pages flew out of the folder and scattered themselves across his pristine floor. Germany glared at Prussia, he, in turn, looked back at the younger nation with an expression very similar to the one he reserved for Germany at times of rare misconduct, when he was still barely a nation being groomed by Bismarck.  
  
"You haven't slept for three days."  
  
"I have a lot of work that needs to be done," he retorted calmly, trying his best to keep his gaze in level with his older brother's despite the instinctual reaction of recoiling. In actuality, Germany was never one to miss sleep. He'd always be able to do his work so efficiently that he didn't need to lose sleep. Still, he didn't think that his older brother would notice.  
  
Prussia shoved away Russia's energy charter proposal into the floor and sat on the edge of the desk. He took a swig of his beer. "If you can't tell Frankreich about it, you can tell me."  
  
Germany sighed and sank back into his chair. He closed his eyes and began massaging his temples. "I'm not worried about anything outside of the EU."  
  
"Too bad they're both in the EU then."  
  
_Scheisse._ In very stressful times, he sometimes forgot that England was part of the EU by the way he always acts so eurosceptic. He creased his brows at Prussia. He had a lot of work to do. He didn't want to be worried about _them_.  
  
And yet, he was.  
  
"Ach Gott! It's just a defence co-op, West. I doubt it would even last long."  
  
"I know."  
  
"They're only doing it for financial reasons."  
  
"I know."  
  
"They're not even sharing aircraft carriers."  
  
"I know."  
  
"But you're still worried."  
  
He is. Germany rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It was illogical. It was not like him. But he is very worried. He couldn't help it. At first, he thought he'd get rid of the anxiety by working, but as the hours progressed, so did his nervousness. The economic crisis had been stressing him out and now England was becoming a burden, somehow floating around France like a fly, often enticing him into a fight and passing snide comments towards Germany. Yes, he had noticed but pretended that he didn't. England wasn't supposed to be hostile to him in these times of peace. It made him wonder how the island nation was able to so easily reach out to his lifetime sworn enemy but not to Germany, who had been extending his hand towards him in a friendly gesture. It was all highly suspect. Their leaders' recent promotions of the Franco-British alliances did not help quell his nerves. France had told him that it was something his government had decided out of financial reasons and nothing more.  
  
What was between England and France was already in the past--at least that's what he tells himself since they started their relationship anew after the reunification.  
  
Still, he couldn't help but worry.

He wanted to think that England was doing this for his own country or for purposes of the NATO. But then thoughts keep coming up in his head--doubts that he didn't want to welcome. Why did England agree to this? Wasn't he supposed to hate France? What was going on? What was he up to?  
  
"West," Prussia said, breaking Germany's train of thought. "They're still in Paris. You can go there and check; it's technically just next door."  
  
"I'm not going to check." He looked at his desk. "I...I trust Frankreich."  
  
Prussia shook his head and took another swig. "Then go get some sleep before those bags under your eyes grow into luggage," he said, standing up. "You know how that pansy hates ugly things."  
  
_Then why did he ever like England?_ Germany thought miserably.  
  
Prussia hauled him up out of his seat by his left arm and started pushing him out the door of his office to his bed room. "Get some sleep. I'll send Belgien the other stuff you can't finish."  
  
"Ost, I can't--"  
  
"It's either I send them to her or I burn them," he said with _that voice_ again.  
  
Germany couldn't resist. He sighed. "A-All right."  
  
Prussia shoved him into his room. "Oh yeah, don't forget: Nord-Italien invited you to a mass gay kiss-off in Venedig. I already said you'll go."  
  
He slammed the door before Germany could refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> 1\. The invite is totally made up for the lulz. Italy's been experiencing homophobic sentiments from its citizens and the nation-wide kiss-off is a campaign against that. But Brussels is busy with the economic crisis so there's a great chance that this thing gets ignored. A senior EU commission official explained that if Berlin (which is also too busy with recession problems to worry about other things) requests a fresh impact assessment study on the anti-discrimination directive (in this case for sexual orientation), Brussels would be willing to do one.
> 
> 2\. Russia's energy charter thing is for the visa-free negotiations between him and the EU.


	5. England

Thessaloniki is one of the cities in sleepy old Greece, located in Central Macedonia. It has stood witness to countless wars and empires throughout history. Now, it lays content as a peaceful city (compared to other major cities in Europe, that is). It was decided that the next EU meeting be held there (which, to England, seemed oddly convenient with Germany's travel plans).  
  
Most of the attendees were sick; notably Greece, Ireland, Spain, Portugal, Lithuania, Latvia, Slovenia, Cyprus, Malta, Romania and Hungary. Veneziano should have been just as devastated, but surprisingly, Romano took the brunt of the illness; which was also why he wasn't present at the meeting. Only the Nordics and Estonia seem to be relatively unscathed, suffering only from a decrease in stamina.  
  
Naturally, if you put European countries together, who happen to be in the middle of an economic crisis, into one confined space, things were like to go, well, not so peaceful. The meeting was in chaos again. It was music to England's ears.  
  
"Shouldn't the austerity measures be _optional_ , just in case the country involved has a _better_ idea?" he challenged Germany.  
  
"We have taken various aspects into account and we see that the stated measures will yield optimum results."  
  
"You sound like a text book, old bean."  
  
"More like a _fascist_ ," Ireland said, blowing her nose into her handkerchief. Most of the other ill nations remained quiet because they were too weak to rouse a fight. But not Ireland. _Never Ireland._  
  
The other members gasped at what she had just said. The f word was a very sensitve word.  
  
"Irlanda!" Italy whined. "Germania isn't like that!"  
  
"Now, now, there is no need for hostilities, you guys," Spain said, his body weak from the unemployment spike.  
  
"Don' tell me what te do! You're just sufferin' as badly as I am!"  
  
"Borrowing that large amount of money will put you at risk of defaulting, Irland," Germany injected. "The studies have shown--"  
  
"This is just ridiculous! _I_ know what's best fer my country!"  
  
"Your reports prove otherwise," Germany replied sternly.  
  
"Well, none o' yer _brilliant_ plans are workin'!"  
  
"Maybe it would work if you actually started _working_ and stopped _getting drunk_ so much, ja?" Prussia snarked venomously.  
  
Ireland threw her hand up in annoyance as she glared at Prussia. "Aye, brilliant. Are we throwin' stereotypes at the table now, ye fuckin' Jerry?"  
  
"Irlande," France implored. " _Calm down._ "  
  
"I hate to say this, but Irlanda is right," Portugal wheezed, similarly weak like Spain. "Your plans don't seem to be working. I'm getting sicker by the day."  
  
"Everyone stop!" Italy said, bawling. He jumped over to Germany and put his arm around the said nation's neck. "Stop picking on Germania!"  
  
England saw France stiffen from the corner of his eye. He smirked inwardly.  
  
"Och! Stop babblin' yeh blubberin' idiot!" Ireland snapped.  
  
"Stop talking about Italien like that, Irland, and sit down!" Germany said, stressed, with a frantic Italy clinging to him.  
  
Ireland sat down, grudgingly.  
  
France stood up, with a hand on his face. His hand dropped. "I know everyone is stressed, but if we calm down, we can sort this out," he said patiently. He looked at Germany and Italy. "Italie, cher, you can let go of him now."  
  
Italy shook his head. "No! They will attack him again!"  
  
France rolled his eyes. " _Italie._ "  
  
Germany held up his hand. "It's all right, Frankreich. I don't mind."  
  
France sat down angrily. England almost laughed out loud, but he kept his face straight. Italy was practically sitting on his Germany's lap.  
  
Germany cleared his throat. "It is just as Frankreich says. If you have problems with the measures that have been laid out for you, then I need proof and whatever alternate solution you may offer."  
  
"That sounds like yeh're saying that everythin' yeh planned is perfect when it isn't," Ireland scoffed, wiping her nose. "Just because yeh're not feelin' the bleedin' recession doesn't mean it doesn't happen te the rest of us!"

England saw France move, about to retort, but Italy beat him to it.  
  
"That's not true! Germania is always working! He always comes home exhausted because he worries for the rest of us all of the time! And his plans aren't bad! They're working just fine! I'm not having big problems with my economy right now thanks to Germania's efforts!"  
  
France bit his lip, looking away as he crossed his arms over is chest. England could sing for joy.  
  
"Thank you, Italien," Germany said with a cough. "I'm trying my best to help. Please don't take it wrongly."  
  
"If the lot of you just didn't go for the euro in the first place, none of this crap would have come to this level," England offered.  
  
"Engeland!" Belgium said in a reprimanding voice.  
  
"Well, it's true," he said haughtily. "And what's more is that you people are trying to have _me_ pay for your bloody tomfoolery."  
  
"O mój Boze, Anglia! Could we, like, _not_ talk about this already?" Poland snapped. "I already like totes told you we're removing your rebate because it, like, doesn't make sense anymore! We like, already cut the allotted budget for the CAP, okay? And besides, we're totes gonna use the moolah for the cohesion policy, so like, chill already!"  
  
England glared at him. "Oh and I suppose that justifies the fact that you're going to make me pay _one and a half times more_ than Germany? How bloody _convenient._ "  
  
"If it makes you feel better, you're also paying twice more than Frankrijk," Netherlands said, distracted with lighting his pipe.  
  
"Great," England replied sarcastically, breaking his pen in half. "While we're at it, why don't I join your bloody little euroclub too? We're all going to _hell_ anyway."  
  
Estonia adjusted his glasses. "I think that the euro still holds its virtues."  
  
"You say that because you're planning to join next year," England pointed out. "Tell me, how _has_ your unemployment rate been, old boy?"  
  
Estonia scowled at him.  
  
"The euro isn't bad!" Italy wailed, tightening his hold on Germany. "All we need to do is to follow Germania's--"  
  
"Och will summun' shut that bloody doofus up? He's givin' me a headache!"  
  
"Irland!"  
  
"If you'd put Italy down for a bloody second and actually _listen_ \--"  
  
"Stop picking on Italien and Deutschland!" Prussia screeched.  
  
"Well then start listenin' and stop coddlin' that whiny little--"  
  
A loud bang reverberated across the room and everybody stopped screaming at each other. Greece had banged his fist on the table, his other hand holding a handkerchief over his runny nose. He looked terrible, most probably because his deficit unexpectedly increased even after implementing austerity measures. He was swaying a little, as if he'd collapse any minute and he looked rather annoyed--that or he was squinting from the sunlight that spilled through the windows, England wasn't sure.  
  
"This is going nowhere," Luxembourg said, massaging his temples. "I think we should take a break before we accidentally declare war on each other."  
  
"Agreed," France said coldly, stood up and strode out of the room, Germany's eyes following him but his body staying in place, embraced by Italy.  
  
England did his best not to smile as he stood up along with the other nations, intent on following France. (He can worm his way out of being denied rebate later. He'll find a way.) He found France in the pantry, drinking coffee angrily. He granted himself a smirk before wearing a solemn face and going in.  
  
He stood beside the angry nation, pouring himself some tea. "That went rather well, don't you think?"  
  
France glared at him from behind his cup. "Yes, if we had weapons, we would have been able to recreate the gladiators at the Roman coliseum," he replied sarcastically.  
  
England laughed. "Funny you should say that. Maybe Germany will bring some next time? You know how he's always loved the Roman coliseum."

France gripped his cup tighter. England took a sip of his tea and winced. Was there no place that could serve good tea in bloody Europe other than England?  
  
"You know, if he didn't spend so much time at the Mediterranean, maybe Ireland wouldn't be half as upset," he said, nursing his cup and observing France from the corner of his eye. "Dear Ireland feels neglected, you know."  
  
The other bit his lip. England could feel the angry heat resonating from France's body. It was beautiful.  
  
"Frankreich?"  
  
They both looked up, well, in France's case, glared up. France dumped the rest of his coffee into the sink and made his way out the door, not even sparing Germany a glance. England smiled and walked up to the doorway, hiding behind the wall and listening.  
  
"I'm sorry I took so long. It took some time to calm Italien down. What did England want?"  
  
He heard France's footsteps stop. "Why do you always ask _me_ what _Angleterre_ is thinking? Why don't you go and ask _cher Italie_? I'm sure he has _all the answers._ "  
  
"Frankreich?"  
  
The footsteps continued at a faster pace until they disappeared. England chuckled to himself.  
  
_France, my dear sweet beautiful jealous France..._  
  
His tea suddenly tasted sweeter.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. High unemployment rate attacks your motor functions and stamina. Tell your friends.  
> 2\. About Thessaloniki, I placed this in a few days before the riot; that's why it's relatively peaceful.  
> 3\. Ireland doesn't hate Italy. It's just that Italy's kinda unnecessarily loud and Ireland has a massive headache the size of Ukraine's knockers--or England's eyebrows, whichever is bigger. We all know how really irritating that is.  
> 4\. I've turned England into some kind of a jerk here but he's going to share deeper not-evil thoughts to you guys soon. Don't hate him just yet.


	6. France

Russia removed his coat and draped it on his chair in France's kitchen before sitting down himself. His face was thinner, a little sallow and there were bags under his eyes--obvious signs of stress from damages to natural resources, which in this case might be the recent fires that ravaged his nation. He had just come from his brief meeting with Poland regarding the visa-free travel between Russia and the EU, and before that, a meeting in Murmansk with Norway.  
  
"Are you all right, mon cher?" France asked, worried, as he set on preparing Russia's treat. "How are Pologne and Norvege?"  
  
"I am fine, Frantsiya," he said with a raspy voice and a kind smile. "They are both doing well. Norvegiya was very friendly and I am very pleased that Pol'sha sees virtues of opening your doors to us."  
  
"So I've heard," he replied with a grin.  
  
It was good news on Russia's part to get more votes among the member states. The Eastern members of the EU had been sceptical about granting him this freedom but now things were looking a bit better. As with his business with Norway, the dispute over the arctic oil and fishing grounds had lasted for years. It was good that they were coming to an understanding.  
  
France set down a bowl of ice cream in front of the large man and sat down from across him.  
  
Russia scooped some and smelt it, inspecting.  
  
"No vodka this time, mon cher," France said with a chuckle. "I don't want to run the risk of...well, you know what alcohol can do."  
  
Russia frowned at him, adjusting his scarf, and ate it. "Vodka has nothing to do with the fires."  
  
"I'm just being safe," he replied with a grin. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?"  
  
The large man waved his hand. "I am fine," he repeated. "You, on the other hand, seem to be as stressed as ever. Angliya, I presume?"  
  
France frowned at him. "Now why would you say that?"  
  
"I have heard of your recent defence cooperation meeting," he said, taking another scoop. "Everyone has."  
  
"It's nothing. It was purely business."  
  
"He has not...tried anything?"  
  
France sighed. "No. He kept a respectable distance."  
  
"It sounds like you were expecting something."  
  
He gave his visitor an almost scathing look. "Russie, mon cher, don't start."  
  
Russia chuckled. "I have heard from Pol'sha that he is being childish and distant."  
  
"What else is new?"  
  
"His hostility to Germaniya is starting to be more noticeable?"  
  
France shot him an alarmed glance. "What else has Pologne told you?"  
  
"Just that," Russia said nonchalantly. His gaze fell on the ice cream in front of him. "Where is Germaniya right now? I understand that you are not spending so much time together because of recession."  
  
France stiffened. "He is in the Mediterranean with Italie. They are surveying the effects of the recovery efforts."  
  
"Again, I see. So that was where he was when Mr Berlusconi visited my boss alone," he said quietly. He looked up with a seemingly innocent smile. "Just that?"  
  
He spluttered. "Don't be ridiculous, Russie. Of course, it's just that." But he wasn't feeling so sure lately. Italy was always a good kid, and France adored him. But he was not so blind as to miss the fact that Italy flirted a lot and Germany was very _lenient_ with him. Sometimes, France found that he wasn't so sure if Germany adored him in a different way. Their past together had always put him out of sorts about the situation. The fact that England had mentioned it and that Germany had been spending a lot of time in the Mediterranean offered him little comfort. He pushed the thought away from his mind. He trusts Germany; he is very loyal and he loves him.  
  
Russia studied him. "You have not fully decided yet, da?"  
  
The host bit his lip and looked away. "I am already happy with Allemagne."  
  
"Yet you long for Angliya all the same."

France glared at him. Russia smiled back innocently. Most of the time, he appreciated the northern nation's ability to read him, but this time, he didn't. His friend was always the sharp one.  
  
"Why didn't I just go for _you_ , mon ami?" he said melancholically. "Life would have been so much simpler."  
  
"You know why," Russia said with a childish grin.  
  
Yes. He wouldn't want America on his heels. It was too bad that they were still at the point of trying to discern whatever it was that was going on between them--or at least that much was true in Russia's case. He doubts that was what Russia was thinking, though.  
  
France's head sank backwards, eyes closed, in surrender.  
  
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Russie." He sighed in an exasperated manner. "I don't know what to do."  
  
Russia chortled. "The country of love is at a loss about love? How disconcerting."  
  
France laughed bitterly and looked at his visitor. "La ferme. I am in the middle of a crisis here and you're just going to sit there and listen like a good friend as always." He sighed and rested his forehead on the palm of his hand.  
  
Silence spread on them like a blanket.  
  
"Then what if I do not simply listen?"  
  
France looked up at his friend, surprised. Russia had always just sat and listened and never commented about anything in that particular topic. He had always assumed that his friend just did not have an opinion in the matter.  
  
Russia's gaze went back to the ice cream. "Or are you afraid of my opinions, Frantsiya?"  
  
The host leaned forward. His heart thumped. "You have never told me your opinion. Why do it now?"  
  
The visitor smiled, not taking his eyes off the frozen treat. "It might be because you did not put vodka in ice cream," he said jokingly. Violet eyes met blue. "Or it could be because the confusion in your eyes look like raging tempests."  
  
France laughed and shook his head.  
  
The larger nation rested his spoon on the lip of the bowl and continued to stare at France. "Think about it. What is the difference between them?"  
  
He considered his visitor for a moment before answering off the top of his head: "Simple, mon cher, Allemagne cares for my clothes, Angleterre does not."  
  
The other's brows rose.  
  
He rested his crossed elbows on the table top and continued, "You see, when kissing, Anglettere always makes it a point to wrinkle my clothes no matter what it is I am wearing. Allemagne makes it a point not to."  
  
The other bit his lip as he tapped the lip of the bowl with his spoon pensively. "I see."  
  
"And when making love, Angleterre always _always_ ruins them, regardless of whether I'm wearing something expensive," he said, a slightly pained expression showing in his face at the memory of all the beautiful clothes England had destroyed. _All in the name of mind-blowing spontaneous sex, **but still**._ "Allemagne goes out of his way to _fold_ them for me before engaging in the act." _Clinical. Clinical but oh so sweet and considerate._  
  
Russia continued to look at him for a few more seconds and then put down his spoon. "The reason you like Angliya is because you resemble each other. You are both spoilt. He will not stop until he has devoured you completely and you him. That is of course, not to say that you want complete union. It means you are both very selfish."  
  
France's smile dropped at that statement.  
  
"And the reason why you like Germaniya is because he is not the same as you."  
  
His brows knitted at that. "I am afraid I don't understand."  
  
"It is simple," he said, his expression unreadable. "Each give you a different kind of happiness. Germaniya gives you stability and peace of mind whereas Angliya gives you excitement and chaotic beauty. Your relationship with the former fulfills your need for productivity whereas the latter provides you satisfaction in your need for destruction."  
  
France looked at him, dumbfounded.  
  
"Germaniya will give you the kind of love that will make you cheerful but Angliya will give you the kind of love that will give you melancholic satisfaction." He smiled wider at his host. "With Germaniya, you will grow and realize into union. With Angliya, you will endlessly try destroying each other and realize identity."  
  
The room was silent again for a few moments.

"A-Are you saying that--that I _should_ choose Allemagne?"  
  
Russia laughed and began eating his ice cream again. "Not at all. You will find happiness with both. It is a matter of which kind of happiness you prefer."  
  
"But you said that with Allemagne, I will grow..."  
  
His visitor gave him a sympathetic smile. "Frantsiya, you and I know that growing is not always a happy endeavour. And union is not always good." He looked at his ice cream like a sad child.  
  
France was at a loss for words. Russia had made...so much sense even with simple words.  
  
"From what I have seen with you and Angliya in the past...you both tend to forget the rest of the world once you are in front of each other." He licked his spoon. "Anyone with good pair of eyes will know how much you love each other, perhaps a little too much. Angliya provides you with too much entertainment."  
  
The host remained silent. He didn't want to derail whatever thoughts were crossing Russia's mind.  
  
"I remember...you said both of you had once gotten into brawl merely because you did not believe in fairies."  
  
He chuckled at that. He remembered it so well. It had been one of the pettiest arguments they'd had and still, they broke up for it. The reasons for their squabbles had ranged from something as petty as this to something serious like their rejection of each other's proposals. But they had good times too.  
  
"Our relationship isn't completely just fighting and destruction, you know."  
  
"Then why did he give you effigy of Eiffel tower during anniversary?"  
  
France eyes widened at the memory and then laughed. "I can't believe you still remember that, Russie." He sat back. "It was made out of scones, which were, unfortunately like all of Angleterre's cooking, _burnt_. But he meant well."  
  
"Of course he did," Russia said, picking at his ice cream. "His meaning well manifested perfectly in your bruised face."  
  
France's hand instinctively went to his cheek, as if to try and feel for the bruise that was no longer there. He'd almost forgotten how hard England's scones could be. He had to admit--England _did_ look good wearing that pirate hat, screaming France's name desperately while he--  
  
"With Germaniya, you feel cheerful but incomplete," Russia continued, breaking his thoughts, "but with Angliya, you feel extremely turmoiled but satisfied."  
  
France looked at him with a scowl. "Both seem to spell doom for me."  
  
Russia smiled at him. "Da. But happiness cannot be attained without certain sense of surrender to your doom, da?"  
  
The host laughed rather sadly and looked at the man opposite him. He rubbed his face with his right hand. "You did not really give me any advice, mon ami."  
  
"What I had offered was _opinion_ , not advice," he retorted with an innocent smile. "I can only advise you to choose carefully. I cannot make decision for you."  
  
France ran a hand through his locks. "I know," he whispered quietly.  
  
Silence filled the room for a few minutes.  
  
"You will be accompanying me to Opera National de Paris tonight, da?" he said, enthusiastically changing the subject. He put his spoon down, bowl already empty. "They are playing Yevgeny Onegin. It will be nice to bring stories home."  
  
He looked at his friend fondly, exhaustion in his eyes. "Of course, mon ami. You know how I adore Messrs Pushkin and Tchaikovsky's works."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. What Russia says here about the pairings is actually my own theory on the matter.  
> 2\. Russia and France are BFFs...what can I say?  
> 3\. They were showing Yevgeny Onegin in Opera National de Paris until October 11, 2010 when I wrote this.


	7. England

"Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't do it."  
  
England looked up at Canada, his brows raised as he froze in the middle of putting sugar into his tea. He'd thought that they'd gone to him to ask him (or in America's case, demand) to talk to the EU parliament about the commission's move to change the PNR system--calling for more privacy on the part of the passengers going to these three in front of him right now. Well, to be honest, it wasn't at all England's idea and he couldn't remember who brought it up to Belgium, but it was getting underway. Europe was starting to be more confident that such tight security measures were unnecessary. He hasn't given his answer yet, but he will in time. After Germany does.  
  
He would have told them to gripe to Belgium instead, but they don't visit often. So he might as well humour them.  
  
"I didn't think you had any problems with sugar, dear boy."  
  
"Not _that_ ," his former colony said with a frown. "I meant what you were thinking of doing with France."  
  
"Yeah and stop picking on Germany too," America added, slamming his open palm on the table to emphasize his point.  
  
He looked at them both, surprised. Then he looked at Australia who was studying his fingernails behind them. "What about you?"  
  
"They just dragged me here, bunch of wankers," he grumbled, without even glancing up.  
  
England nodded. _Quite._ He looked at the quietest of his former colonies and smirked. He knew how to handle this. He began spooning sugar into his tea. "Thinking of doing? You mean how I'm thinking of tying his hands and feet, stripping him, throwing him into the bough of one of my impressive ships, nipping and licking his neck as my hand skims his body until I reach his--"  
  
"OH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST MAKE HIM STOP!" America screamed, covering his ears hard with both hands. His other two colonies had turned a peculiar shade of green. Australia was covering his mouth as if to stop himself from vomiting.  
  
He grinned. Maybe now they'd have a decent talk about _other_ things that don't involve the kraut. He didn't need to keep thinking about them all the time.  
  
But no, Canada remained steadfast once he had willed the mental image away. "I know you love him, but he's happy with Germany now."  
  
He scoffed. _Happy?_ France wasn't at all happy. He was only _pretending_ to be happy while he wallowed in frustration. He could see it in his eyes whenever Italy would hang off of Germany frequently. If anything, France was subconsciously jealousy-prone. For all his confidence, he was actually very possessive. Germany had been focusing too much attention to the Mediterranean to spend any time with him. But that wasn't the only problem. France was dry, England knew that much. When he was having a dry spell, France would always become more of a flirt around other nations and more irritated towards England. He was always like that. He could always detect when his (ex) lover is sexually frustrated. And he would always wait it out until France turns into a wreck. It made the sex much more rewarding.  
  
The dry spell, coupled with the recession, forcefully hidden jealousy and the constant lack of attention from his badly chosen new partner--it was a recipe for disaster. It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart. And England was going to be there waiting when it happens.  
  
It would have been so easy to seduce him, but he decided against it. There was a reason why he always came back to England's arms over and over throughout the centuries. France would come to him of his own volition like he always did. Because nobody could satisfy him the way England does. _Nobody. Especially not that kraut._  
  
"Please," Canada implored, reaching out to touch England's hand.  
  
England moved his hand away. _The nerve of this child._ "I assure you, I haven't done anything inappropriate," he said icily. "If France seems to flirt with me more than he does with the Jerry, that's his own decision, not mine."

Truthfully, it was. He had made sure not to seduce the frog or even touch him in a way that he would be likely to misinterpret as an invitation. He only occasionally mentioned an offer, but knowing France, the frog responded more to touch than he did to verbal stimulation. Mentioning it from time to time did nothing but inform France that he had another option--a _better_ option. If he was going to get France back, it would be because the tosser wanted it. He would not seduce him back. He knew that luring him out by using lust would not yield to a long-term solution. No, he kept a respectable distance. France would come to his senses and be by his side in time, even without his help.  
  
Canada frowned. "Belgium said you were antagonizing him."  
  
"Dear boy, voicing _observations_ hardly qualifies as antagonizing someone," he said haughtily, sipping his tea. "If he just happens to be doing badly, it's _his_ fault; not mine."  
  
"But--"  
  
" _America_ , you're not seriously siding with the kraut, are you?"  
  
America glanced at Canada and shrugged. "Not really. I just don't want you causing trouble."  
  
England smirked. "Then it's settled," he said triumphantly. "I've already told you that I'm not doing anything wrong. Now, unless you three are planning to drink tea with me," he noted the cups of tea laid out for them that were kept untouched ( _bastards, not knowing how hard it is to go by with the recessions still on our shoulders_ ), "I suggest you go about on your merry way." He swivelled his chair so he wasn't facing them anymore.  
  
He heard Australia stand up. "You heard the pom. Let's get out of here."  
  
Canada sighed. "All right."  
  
"All right!" he heard America say enthusiastically. "Beach party at your place, Oz?"  
  
"Aye. I'll put shrimp on the barbie for ya."  
  
"Why would you put a shrimp on Barbie?"  
  
The door slammed. England shook his head. He swivelled back to his desk and took his cup of tea. Canada was always the worry-wart.  
  
_Ah France._ That git would always, _always_ return to his arms eventually. Whether his new lover was a country of great romantic reputation or somebody utterly ridiculous like _Germany_ , he would always return. Because they were meant for each other. He believed that and he knew France did too. The difference was that the frog always tried to fight it whenever they broke up. He never really understood why they kept breaking up. It was a mystery he'd been trying to solve for years. If one thought about it logically, their relationship made perfect sense; he knows that even Germany knows this, otherwise he wouldn't have taken that long to establish a relationship with France.  
  
He sipped his tea. He remembered when he first met France. He thought the wanker was a girl from all the lace he had worn. While trying to secure what would have been called an alliance to fight the Roman menace that threatened to consume their people, France had gone on and on and on about civilization and how England was a barbarian that needed to be groomed. It had ended in fists and claws. It was love at first sight.  
  
Since then, England had put it upon himself to hold the duty of beating France back into his proper place. He joined countless alliances whose causes he didn't even care for in the least. He would always enjoy the attention France lavished him with, whether it was out of anger, lust or love. He would take all of it. And he would always thirst for more. France would always continue to give and take in turn.  
  
France was most like France when he had an equal to oppose. He loved him the most at those times. He yearned to see it and to feel it and to be the cause of it.  
  
Then there came Germany. It irked him to no end how that kraut became a frequent obstacle for him. Even back in the days of their childhood, France had turned to him when he was upset with England. He remembered, at the turn of the millennium, how the frog had focused his attentions on the Holy Roman Empire instead of England, even opting to be a vassal to the git. He had been so so _jealous_. But he had France's attentions back soon enough. Not long after, England had manifested his love--by kicking the French arse out of his land.

He would love the faces France would make. It was a pity that cameras were not yet invented then. He would have loved to keep the pictures--especially the ones he had made during the hundred years war. The annoyance--the anger--it spelt life in France's face. They'd both felt a rush from those exercises. Even when they fought, England always loved him. _Always_. Defeating Napoleon had been one of the best fights he'd had with France. Not only did it bring the frog back down from his insanity, but it also resulted in the fall of the Holy Roman Empire by France's own hands--which was really just a bonus. But it made him happier all the same.  
  
But it was not all war and blood between them. They'd had mellower days, even though they were rare. He would remember spending evenings with him in front of the fireplace, wrapped in each other's warmth and scent, whispering sweet words against each others' skin as the London rain splattered against the windows. He would remember the dinners France used to make for him in his posh flat in Paris and the flowers England would shower him with. They should have been in utter bliss. But it never lasts.  
  
_It never does._  
  
He sighed heavily, willing away the tears that started to form in his eyes from the memories hat conjured in his head and took another sip. Maybe--Maybe England had himself to blame. He shook his head. _No._ The failure in their relationship was both their fault. The last one, he admits, is probably the longest break they've had from each other that had no casual sex in between. It had been more than sixty years since they were last romantically involved with each other. They had nobody but themselves to blame.  
  
It was ironic that the events that had lead to their most recent failure were the two proposals. The first time there was a proposal between them, it had been England holding out the ring to France. They were both ravaged by war and economic disasters. England had thought that the marriage would help boost the assault against Nazi Germany. France must have thought he was only using him as a foothold against the Nazi git and was being insincere. England had been livid when he chose to surrender to the kraut and be his whore. He had wanted to tear Germany into pieces and chuck whatever was left into a furnace. He was so angry and jealous. He wanted to kill them both. The pictures that came out on the newspaper featuring Germany with a lifeless France in front of the Eiffel tower made him even more furious.  
  
The second proposal didn't go well either. France had proposed to him, telling him that without England, his economy would fall. England's heart broke for the nth time. He was angry that France would only agree to a union when it was convenient for him. (In truth, he wouldn't marry France if he could help it. He liked France as France--as his own country. He feared that marriage would make France lose his identity.) He was angry with how trivial he made their relationship sound. He lashed out at him. He had shunned him away with as much vitriol he could muster and told him to go back to the kraut because that's what he was good for anyway. He was hurt.  
  
He immediately regretted his outburst when he heard that France had started dating him. Under America's suggestion, he applied to join the EU, where France rejected him twice--presumably in an effort to try and pursue a relationship with Germany. At first, he sought to seduce France back and let him wallow in his treachery. But as the anger dissipated, he went on a more prudent path and waited for its dissolution instead.  
  
It wasn't just that France was wasting attentions on someone else. No, it wasn't just that. He felt that France was disappearing since this whole EU bullcrap started. Germany was slowly consuming him. He would no longer even _be_ France soon; he was slowly turning into just another insignificant part of Europe now. And that--that was simply unacceptable. France was for _England_ only. He was the only one who can make the _real_ France surface, wild and carefree.

He set down his cup angrily and noticed his phone blinking repeatedly. He opened the message. It was from Turkey. They'd started being good friends when he decided to support the Mediterranean nation in his membership to the EU. He had also asked for his help to convince France to let him join. He agreed but made no promises.  
  
He licked his lips as he read the contents. His eyes widened in surprise at first before a grin spread across his face. He touched the smooth surface of the phone's screen, his smile growing as he read further. He sank back into his chair.  
  
_Perfect. Just perfect._


	8. France

France shut the closet door behind him. After putting on a tantrum with Sarkozy's new implementations for the supposed betterment of his economy, he had walked out on them. And Lagarde-- _Lagarde_. They were supposed to be kindred spirits in fashion! _Seriously, **two years**?_ It is cruel. It is unthinkable. It is outrageous. It is distasteful. It is--It is--  
  
_Anglo-Saxon._  
  
He shuddered. He didn't think he'd see a day like this since joining the EU. He took out his phone. Germany had been calling him during the heat of the debate, so he wasn't able to answer. He smiled. At least, tonight, he would not have to worry about that. Tonight was going to be one of those rare nights he had with Germany. He licked his lips and dialled Germany's number. He waited. And waited. And waited.  
  
_Please answer._  
  
Germany picked up. "Hallo?"  
  
"Mon amour!" he said, almost too happily. "I am sorry I wasn't able to answer your call earlier. I had a meeting with Nicolas and everything got a little hectic." He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "I've missed you."  
  
"I understand, Frankreich," he could hear the smile in Germany's tone. He smiled back. "I called because I will not be able to meet with you tonight."  
  
France's smile dropped and his eyes grew wide. "What? B-But Allemagne! We haven't met in ages!"  
  
Germany chuckled at the other end. "I know. We will be able to meet soon. I have to stay in the Mediterranean to see what I can do for Griechenland."  
  
France bit his lip. _Really? For **Grece**?_ He remembered what England said. "I see. But what about Irlande?"  
  
"Do not worry; Belgien, Niederlande and Luxemburg are all there right now. Irland is in good hands."  
  
_Why send three members to help just one country?_ "I see..."  
  
"Frankreich?"  
  
He recovered. "I understand, mon cher." _How could you do this to me?_ "You have work to do. I am not one to keep you from it." _I need you right now._  
  
"Danke, Frankreich. I will be meeting you in Korea's party in a few days?"  
  
_I want to meet you **now**._ "Of course. Good bye." He hung up. He slumped against the door and sighed. He looked at his phone for a few minutes, waiting for Germany to call back and say that he cancelled whatever meeting he was having with Greece and that they were still going to meet--because it's hard enough for them to meet regularly and he loves France more than work.  
  
_Doesn't he?_  
  
No call came. France resisted the urge to crush his phone. He pressed and held the 1 key on his phone and waited as it rang. After the fifth ring, the line picked up.  
  
"Allo? Frantsiya?"  
  
"Russie," France said, covering up his stress as best as he could. "How are you?"  
  
There was a pause. "I am in business meeting with Boeing."  
  
_Boeing?_ "With L'etats?"  
  
"Nyet. Only with Boeing. A business meeting to purchase aircraft."  
  
Oh."W-Will you have free time tonight?"  
  
Russia cleared his throat. "Something is wrong with Germaniya, I presume."  
  
_Merde._ He forced a nonchalant laugh. "Non, non, mon ami--" he stopped, hearing Russia grin from the other end of the line. "Russie," he chided.  
  
"Prosti menya. It is not because of your circumstance."  
  
He knew that. Russia was grinning at France's predictability. But he didn't like it. Not now, at least. "He is staying in the Mediterranean. Again."  
  
"Ah." There was a pause. Russia was probabaly thinking of a way to comfort him for being ditched. "Why?" Or not.  
  
"For Grece. T-To help with his economy."  
  
Russia hummed pensively. "For Gretsiya, I see." There was a long pause. "And Sarkozy? He is with you?"  
  
"Not at the moment. But he'll find me soon."  
  
There was a pause. France imagined his friend pursing his lips. "I am not available tonight or following days. I have meeting with Kitai* next. But I will be with you in Koryeya's party and railway** opening, I promise."  
  
France's heart sank.  
  
"I know you are in need of companionship," Russia said in a comforting voice. "I am unavailable physically but my line is always open for your calls."  
  
France smiled sadly. "Merci, Russie."  
  
"If you are needing _physical_ companionship," he said with a sly lilt in his voice, "perhaps you should call Angliya?"

France scowled. " _Russie._ "  
  
"It was only suggestion," Russia said, chuckling. "Where are you?"  
  
"In the closet. Second floor. The one near the giant vase you hate so much."  
  
"Closet," Russia said, chortling. "If Putin discovers my conversation with you, Sarkozy will know."  
  
"Don't you dare tell Monsieur Putin where I am."  
  
"Sarkozy will be furious."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "He already is. I just don't want to see him right now."  
  
"Why? What is wrong?"  
  
"He wants to raise the retirement age."  
  
"Raise? How much?"  
  
"Two years," France said in a disgusted tone.  
  
There was a pause. Then an annoyed " _Frantsiya._ "  
  
"Do not give me that tone, Russie. Your retirement age is also 60. And besides, you _know_ it is not the French way to use such _Anglo-Saxon_ standards."  
  
"You say Anglo-Saxon with repulsed tone as if you really hate it."  
  
"I do hate it."  
  
There was a pause. "Two years is not big deal. Amerika's retirement is _66_."  
  
"Amerique is Anglo-Saxon, mon cher."  
  
Russia chuckled. "I think you should go back to your boss. He will be livid."  
  
"Are you--Are you _ditching_ me?"  
  
"No, I am telling you to go back before Putin makes call to Sarkozy. I just saw one of his assistants eavesdropping."  
  
" **RUSSIE!** "  
  
There was a knock on the door. "France, open up."  
  
_Nicolas._ France clamped his mouth shut and pretended not to be there.  
  
"There is no use hiding, France. I know you are there. Come out this instant."  
  
He heard Russia chuckling on the other end of the line. "It seems you have been caught, comrade."  
  
France narrowed his eyes. "Russie, I will _kill_ you!"  
  
His friend continued chuckling on the other end of the line. "It was joke. Putin is not with me today. I am with subordinates only for Boeing meeting. Nobody from my side told your boss."  
  
"Then how would he know I was here?"  
  
"I can hear you all the way down the corridor," Nicolas said from the other side of the door, arms presumably crossed on his chest and a displeased look presumably on his face. "I'm sure you have bothered Monsieur Ivan enough for today."  
  
France stuck his tongue out at Sarkozy, which was pretty much useless because his boss couldn't see the display of defiance.  
  
"He knows you quite well," Russia said; an innocent smile could be heard from his voice.  
  
"Russie--"  
  
"France!" Sarkozy barked. Then his tone softened. "Please. It is only two years--be reasonable. I would never do anything that will be detrimental to you."

"Only _you_ would implement such an _Anglo-saxon_ policy on me," France hissed against the door, covering his cellphone's mouthpiece. "Charles would never treat me like this."  
  
"That is unfair, comrade...putting de Gaulle into this."  
  
"Russie, whose side are you on?"  
  
"Neither," he said like a cheerful child.  
  
"If you do not come out this instant, I will have to call Monsieur Ludwig. This measure _is_ his suggestion."  
  
France bit his lip and gripped his phone. He really didn't want to go out right now. On the other hand, he didn't want Germany to worry. Even if that sexy musclehead is partly to blame for his current misery.  
  
"I like your boss, Frantsiya." His damned smile was still in his voice.  
  
"Of course you do, mon cher," France replied scathingly before hanging up. He wrenched the door open.  
  
His boss smiled at him knowingly.  
  
France scowled and brushed past him--stomping back towards the conference room and giving a passing glance towards the window. The streets of Paris were full of protesters, all from different walks of life. There were posters, banners, and placards--even an effigy of Sarkozy with a jester's hat on his head. He looked away and continued on his path. They'll all get out of this soon.  
  
He hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was what France was whining about: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8988132.stm


	9. France|Germany|England

France made his way through the crowd of nations, trying to find Germany. Every member of the UN had attended Korea's International Peace Day bash, as expected. Korea has outdone himself yet again. Although it wasn't your regular European chic, the party was admittedly looking to be quite a success. It wasn't like the other parties he had attended before. K-Pop was blaring on his impressive sound system and lights of different colours dotted the modern minimalistic style of the place. It was very K-pop and young.  
  
France would have appreciated it more had he not been pissed in the first place. The austerity measures had caused protests left and right in his country. All day, people had been shouting and it was driving him crazy. His people were right to be angry. Really--retirement at _62_ \--it did not at all reflect what France stood for. If only his boss would see this. He sighed. Whatever, he was very stressed. He didn't even have enough time to change into a proper party outfit. Hopefully, nobody would notice the small coffee splatter on his shirt that was caused by the turbulence in the plane. He sighed in frustration. He only came to the party out of obligation. If he had a choice, he would have just flopped onto his bed in Paris--or even the couch, he wasn't choosy right now--and fell asleep.  
  
"Good evening everyone!" he heard Korea's voice boom from the speakers. "This is Dae Han Minguk telling you to party for peace! We're going to be here all night so don't hesitate to take as much soju as you want, because I invented that and it's definitely cool!"  
  
France shook his head. Where the hell was Germany? Did he even attend? _He had better attend or I will snap his brawny neck in two._ He stood on his tip-toes and surveyed the room. _There!_ Germany was near the drinks, chatting with Japan. He set out to make his way there.  
  
"I forgot: peace originated from Hanguk! So you know it's good-- _aigoo_! Hyung!"  
  
"Stop with the nonsense, Hanguo." _Chine._  
  
"You never say that to Ibuk-noona! No fair!"  
  
"Shut up you little runt."  
  
"HYUNG! DID YOU HEAR WHAT NOONA JUST SAID? DID YOU HEAR?!"  
  
"Aiya! So noisy!"  
  
"Guys, let him be, it's _his_ party!" he heard one of the Southeast Asian nations shout from the dancefloor. Vietnam had introduced her before, but he couldn't remember her name. She was one of Spain's though.  
  
"You rock, Pillipin! We're friends for life!" South Korea screamed.  
  
The attending nations laughed throughout the conversation. He would have laughed too, but he wasn't in the mood. He finally reached Germany, panting.  
  
"Frankreich," Germany said, acknowledging him with a smile. Japan bowed and politely left them be. "Long flight?"  
  
"Let's not talk about it, Allemagne," he said, catching his breath. "My people are not taking the change well. It's driving me crazy! I'd really just rather forget about it right now."  
  
Germany chuckled and handed him a beer.  
  
France raised his eyebrow at the beverage and then looked at Germany. _Really?_ "Really, Allemagne? Beer?"  
  
"Is something wrong?"  
  
France didn't know if Germany was trying to be funny or he was just really stupid. They'd been together for twenty years already, for God's sake! You'd think he already got it through his head that France didn't like beer. "I tell you I'm _stressed_ and you give me a _beer_?"  
  
"W-Well, I--"  
  
Somebody tapped his shoulder. He groaned and turned around only to have a glass of wine shoved under his nose.  
  
"I thought you might want it," England said with an easy smile. "It's quite good, but I've had enough of it."  
  
France blushed and took the glass from his hand. "T-Thank you, Angleterre."  
  
England shrugged and walked away, with France's gaze on his back. _Angleterre definitely has a beautiful backsi--_  
  
He sipped his wine before his thoughts could go further. England was right. It _did_ taste good. It must have been Spanish wine. He took another sip. Yes, it was definitely Spanish.  
  
"Frankreich?"  
  
He turned back to Germany, his bad mood forgotten.

"Which measures are your people protesting against? I'm sure I've been fair about the action plans. I haven't heard of Italien's people complaining much."  
  
_Ah yes, of course. Italie would never complain about your plans. You're **perfect** to him after all._ He forced a smile. "Can we not talk about work right now, Allemagne?"  
  
"But this is important--"  
  
"Allemagne," he said sternly, finally frowning. "Is it always about work with you? We came to a _party_ , mon cher, not a meeting." He turned his back to Germany again and sipped some more wine. _This man is always about work._ He wished that he'd lighten up for once.  
  
Spain appeared out of nowhere and looped his arm around France's neck. "Francia, Francia! It's the tango!" he said excitedly. "Argentina asked Corea to play it."  
  
France smiled. "So it is." Spain can be such a proud parent sometimes.  
  
He offered his hand. "May I have this dance?" He cocked his eyebrow and smiled charmingly.  
  
"Are you sure you are up for it, Espagne?" He was worried about Spain's dwindling stamina caused by the high unemployment rate.  
  
"Of course I am! I've experienced things much worse than this! And I'm never too tired for a dance!" He looked back behind France. "You don't mind, do you, Allemania?"  
  
"No, it's all right, Spanien," he heard Germany say from behind him.  
  
France accepted Spain's hand, putting down his glass of wine on the table and flashed an equally charming smile of his own. "I would love to, Espagne."  
  
He let Spain lead him into the dancefloor.  
  
As soon as they were out of Germany's earshot, Spain spoke. "You two don't seem to be doing well these days."  
  
France's brows jumped. That was unusually observant of his friend. "It is nothing. The recession, you know?"  
  
Spain laughed sadly. "Yes." He turned around to face France. "Will you be leading?"  
  
France shook his head and chuckled. "No, mon cher. This is the dance of passion. Who else should lead but you?"  
  
Spain smiled and took his hand in his left and his right on the middle of France's back. He began leading his friend into the dance, sliding across the dancefloor like they'd practiced the dance together for ages.  
  
"You should tell him if he is neglecting you."  
  
"Oui." France didn't look at him.  
  
A sharp turn. "I'm sure he'll make time if you ask."  
  
"I always do. But he's always busy."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"Espagne."  
  
He dipped France in time with the music. "Si?"  
  
"What has...What has Allemagne been doing in the mediterranean?"  
  
Spain looked at him curiously as he pulled him back up. "Well, mostly, he's been inspecting Grecia's banks, I think. At least that's what I've heard. Why?"  
  
"N-Nothing." He felt his heart relax. "I was just curious."  
  
His partner chuckled. "Well, I haven't been with him a lot so I don't know. Italia knows, I think. He's always with Allemania these days."  
  
"Quoi?" France asked, almost losing his footing.  
  
Spain caught him in time, although stumbling a little himself. "Si. Italia's been very helpful."  
  
France's mouth went dry. "I-I see..."  
  
"I'm sure with his help, you and Allemania can have time together."  
  
"O-Of course."  
  
"Veneziano's such a good kid--filling in for Romano and even helping Allemania..." He swivelled France.  
  
"Yes. Yes, he is."  
  
"Romano's still bed-ridden, you know? He didn't even insult me when I came to visit."  
  
"That's rather alarming."  
  
"Si," Spain said sadly as he sharply pulled France back towards him. "But at least he is not unconscious."  
  
"I'm sure he will recover, mon cher."  
  
Spain grinned. "Of course he will!" He almost tripped over France's foot. "Oops!"  
  
France caught him this time. "It's all right, Espagne."  
  
He laughed, embarrassed. "Lo siento. My knee suddenly gave out for some reason."  
  
"Are you sure you're all right, mon cher?"  
  
"Si, si! Of course I--"

* * *

 

Germany sighed.  
  
He was tired. France was also understandably tired. He didn't want to sound like the only thing important to him was work, even if it _is_ important. Oh well. They can discuss it when France comes back.  
  
Italy came tottering about, haircurl bouncing, as he approached Germany. "Germania! Why are you here all alone?"  
  
He looked up at Italy. The shorter man was wearing a snug black coat the ended just above his hips. Underneath it was a sequin shirt. His eyes dropped to Italy's leather pants, which accentuated the shape of the man's legs. He gulped the beer in his mouth, oddly feeling a little dry even after he just drank.  
  
Italy noticed his gaze. "You like it? It's Versace! I thought it would suit Corea's K-pop themed party."  
  
Germany nodded, feeling his cheeks heat and drank more of his beer.  
  
"Frankreich went to dance with Spanien," he said, remembering the other's question.  
  
"Oh that's right! Spagna loves tango!"  
  
Germany nodded and looked at the dancing crowd nations in front of him.  
  
Italy giggled. "How about you? Don't you want to dance?"  
  
"No, no, I'm not a fan of it," he said. "Ah, I also congratulate you on cracking down that mafia lord last week. You are doing quite well even with Sud-Italien not being there to help you."  
  
"Grazie!" Italy giggled and stood next to Germany, their sides touching. "You look sad. Is something wrong?"  
  
He sighed. "I'm just worried about the recession. Everyone is having a hard time and it seems like I can't do anything to solve it."  
  
Italy rubbed his bicep. "Cheer up, Germania! We know you're doing your best! I'm sure the problem will go away soon. Just think positive!"  
  
He sighed heavily. "I hope so, Italien." He smiled at Italy. "I hope so."  
  
"Then smile for me!" he said cheerily.  
  
"Ita--"  
  
"Go on, smile!" he said, putting his fingers on both ends of Germany's mouth and turning them up so that he's smiling. "I'm sure you'll feel much better!"  
  
He was always such a good friend and he regularly cheered him up. He in turn was always there for Italy--always defending him from the other nations that picked on him. It was quite a surprise how so many nations seem to bully him even though he was so nice. Sometimes he would even see Italy crying because of something Austria or Hungary would talk to him about in private. They were usually nice to him.  
  
Germany held his hands away from his face and simply smiled at Italy. "Thank you, Italien."  
  
"You're more handsome when you smile."  
  
He flushed and let go of his hands. France told him so too at times. "I-Is that so?"  
  
"Yes! Very very handsome!"  
  
"I-I see," he said. "You're handsome too, Italy." Really, he was. Germany wasn't lying.  
  
"Really?" he asked excitedly, leaning closer to Germany's face.  
  
Unsure of his vocal chords not giving up on him, Germany nodded.  
  
Italy giggled. "Does that taste good?" he asked, pointing at his drink. Germany nodded again, and before he knew it, Italy had taken the bottle and drank from it himself. The shorter man cringed as he swallowed and he returned his beer. "I still think I like wine better," he said coughing. "But beer isn't too bad!"  
  
Germany smiled. If only he could make France see that too.  
  
Waltz music started playing out of nowhere and Italy bounced up and down again. "Germania! Germania! It's waltz! I've always wanted to learn waltz! Will you teach me? Please, please, please, please?"  
  
He looked at his friend apprehensively. Maybe he should wait for France first to ask permission? Why was there waltz playing in the party? He didn't think that Korea would have that in his collection.  
  
"This boring waltz is brought to you by Oseuteu leil lia!"  
  
"I am _Osterreich_ , not Australien."  
  
"Waltz originated from Hanguk--ouch!"  
  
"Just for that, you will play all the tracks," he heard Hungary say.  
  
Germany chuckled. Austria. Of course.  
  
"Please, Germania?" Italy implored, pulling a puppy-dog face.  
  
Germany sighed. He could never say no to Italy. "All right." He was sure France wouldn't mind.  
  
_It's only Italy._

* * *

 

France was helping Spain to a chair.  
  
"Sorry, Francia," he heard Spain apologize as he sat down.  
  
"Think nothing of it, mon ami. What is important is that you rest." He looked at his watch, brushing the confetti, that Uruguay had falling from the ceiling during the climax of the tango, from his shoulder. "Venezuela is coming back soon with some wine. I will have to leave you here for a bit. Allemagne must be looking for me."  
  
"Of course!" Spain said with a bright smile. "Don't worry about me! Thank you!"  
  
France nodded and left to look for Germany. Now was his chance.  
  
He tapped France on the shoulder as soon as the waltz began to play.  
  
"Care for a dance?" he asked, offering his hand.  
  
France looked at it apprehensively as Korea and Austria's voices blared in the sound system. "I think I should look for Allemagne, Angleterre--"  
  
"Just one dance won't hurt," he said with a smile. "It's not the end of the world."  
  
France smiled at him, probably remembering old memories. He took his hand.  
  
England pulled him over, spinning him around the way he knew France would swoon. "I'm going to lead, of course."  
  
The other looked at him with a raised brow. "Are you sure, Angleterre?"  
  
"Of course," he said cockily. "The International Standard is called the English waltz."  
  
He scoffed. "I remember back in the day, you didn't even like this dance."  
  
"It does have some advantages, I'll have to admit," he said, holding France closer.  
  
"Angleterre--"  
  
"Shall we then?" he asked, flashing one last smile before whisking France away into the waltz.  
  
He remembered when France first taught him this dance, a few years before the end of Napoleon. France had come to England as a spy masquerading as a waltz teacher, presumably against Napoleon's orders. England had singled him out quickly to his boss. At the time, he had been suffering from insanity brought about by the revolution. The regent prince had decided to play along, hoping to get vital information in return. In those days at the court, one would have thought that they weren't at war with all the waltzing and whatnot.  
  
Their legs brushed fluidly against each other as they side-stepped and changed direction. It figured that the frog liked the dance so much; the proximity of the dancers' bodies and where the hands were placed made for easy groping. Which France did. To England. England had gone ballistic, throwing tea cups and other such things the first time he was groped during the dance. George IV had not been at all pleased at his behaviour, because he had put him to the task of trying to find out what the bloody Corsican madman was up to. England was then forced to endure being secretly groped in public whenever he waltzed with France--the dances, more often than not, leading to other activities in the bedroom. Those had been some of their fondest memories together, because they were the only pleasant memories they had during those dark times. Those few instances gave England chances to catch glimpses of France's sanity returning, giving him hope that he could get France back by his side.  
  
He looked at France's unreadable expression. He must be reminiscing too. That or he was trying his hardest not to grope England's arse. He smirked. The frog was probably thinking of the latter. It would explain why he hasn't been molested yet.  
  
"I don't think I like that smile on your face, Angleterre. What are you thinking?"  
  
"Probably the same thing as you are."  
  
He delighted in how France turned into a pretty shade of pink and looked away. France can be so deliciously predictable. As soon as the music ended, he released France. No groping happened, much to his disappointment, but he preferred it this way.

England looked at France. He's beautiful, just the way he always was. Even if he was just standing there, not even dressed in his best Parisian high fashion clothes (which had a small coffee stain on the collar; yes, England noticed that) with his hair a little messy, dark circles under his eyes and his chapped lips still deciding whether to smile or to frown, he still made England's heart beat faster and butterflies flutter in his stomach. It could only be explained by one thing: true love. He knew France feels the same way too. He _must_.  
  
He brushed away the confetti (from the tango earlier) off of France's hair. He looked lovingly into France's sapphire blue eyes. He was so beautiful.  
  
_He must feel the same way._  
  
"I have to go back to Allemagne now, Angleterre," France said, his eyes wide and uncertain.  
  
_Of course._ "Y-Yes. Thank you for the dance, France," he said quietly, ignoring the pain in his heart and wishing with all his soul that he could keep him there longer, even if it was just to be able to freely admire him. He missed France so much.  
  
"I thank you as well."  
  
"Hey! Hey you guys!"  
  
They both looked to where the noise came from and saw America, with Canada in tow.  
  
" _Man_ , you guys call that waltz? How about a contest? You guys versus me and Canada."  
  
"Canada and _I_ , America," he corrected. Seriously, was there no teaching this boy?  
  
"Okay," he said, releasing Canada and grabbing France's hand. "All you had to do was ask."  
  
"Wait--"  
  
"Amerique--"  
  
"Come on, France! Us revolution buddies can't lose to them commonwealth geeks," he said, putting his hand on France's waist.  
  
England took Canada's hand. "Are you absolutely certain about this?"  
  
"You bet I am!" the younger nation said, beaming. "And we're gonna do American style Waltz 'cause it's better."  
  
His eye twitched. "Fine. But how can we hold a contest without a judge?"  
  
"I will be playing judge tonight," said Russia who came out of nowhere.  
  
"You'd better not be biased, russki," America joked, getting France into position.  
  
Russia laughed in a rough voice. "Not to worry, Amerika. You know I treat you both equally."  
  
Which pretty much meant that he hated them both equally, England was certain. It was confirmed by the petulant scowl America gave the larger nation after that statement. He readied Canada.  
  
Both couples started dancing at the snap of Ivan's fingers. From the corner of his eye, he saw France and America dancing. America danced more splendidly than he had expected. Maybe he was taking lessons? He certianly wasn't this good before.  
  
"England, where's Germany?" Canada asked meekly.  
  
England turned his attention back to his dance partner and raised an eyebrow at him. "What do I care where that kraut went off to? Besides, shouldn't you be asking France that?"  
  
Canada frowned a little.  
  
He narrowed his eyes at his former colony. "Is that why you and America came over?"  
  
The younger nation paled and looked at their feet. So it _was_.  
  
"Am I not allowed to dance with your father every once in a while?"  
  
Canada looked up and gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I was just checking."  
  
England sighed as they spun on the dancefloor, France and America dancing nearby. "It's all right. You meant well." He paused. "Are you opposed to France being with me, Canada?"  
  
"N-No," the bespectacled nation said shyly. "It's just that--I haven't seen France so happy and...well..."  
  
"You think he's not happy with me?"  
  
"No," he said. "Not necessarily. I mean, I know he was happy with you too but...he doesn't get hurt as much anymore now..."

The painful squeeze in his heart manifested through his suddenly tighter hold on his former colony's hand.  
  
"I-I-I'm sorry," Canada squeaked, not looking at the older nation. "I don't mean anything bad by it."  
  
"No," England said bitterly. What Canada said was true. It didn't mean that he liked the truth though. "Of course you didn't." He released the younger nation as soon as the song ended.  
  
"The winner is America," Russia declared.  
  
"What the bloody hell," England said in outrage, forgetting the sadness he had felt just moments ago. "Are you sodding blind?"  
  
"The contest is for American-style waltz," he said with a crooked smile. "You and Kanada danced International Standard."  
  
_Blast it all._ He forgot about that. He glared at the larger nation.  
  
"Fuck yeah!" America cheered, high-fiving France. "In your face, England!"  
  
France laughed. "Thank you, mon cher. I have not had that much fun in ages."  
  
"Huh? But you guys are in Europe! Don't you guys _always_ have fun?"  
  
"Unfortunately not...Allemagne...Germany...is always busy with work. We do not have time."  
  
England shot a meaningful look at Canada who shrunk back.  
  
"C-Can I have the next dance, Papa?" he asked shyly.  
  
"Of course, Canada," France replied, taking his hand.  
  
"Well, well, well...isn't this interesting?"  
  
They looked at Russia who nodded towards the center of the dancefloor. The four of them turned to where Russia's creepy stare was directed.  
  
Italy was embracing Germany, bouncing up and down like an excited child. From the corner of his eye, he saw France's eyes widen, smile dropping from his face.  
  
Oh this was brilliant. _Positively brilliant._  
  
"Germania, Germania, you're so good at waltz!" he exclaimed. "You should teach me more often! I'll make you delicious wurst pasta! You like that, don't you? And we can have beer too!"  
  
Germany nodded, furiously blushing.  
  
Italy cheered. "Let's dance some more!" he exclaimed, nuzzling Germany's neck.  
  
The look on France's face was priceless. He wished he could photograph it.  
  
"F-France...?" Canada asked, frightened.  
  
France looked back at his colony. "Ah yes, let us dance, mon petit chou." His arm circled around Canada's waist and they started dancing.  
  
He did his best to supress his smile. This was too good to be true. He didn't even plan on Italy coming for Germany. Come to think of it, he never enlisted for Italy's help. Maybe God was on his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dae Han Minguk - Republic of Korea, which is pretty much Yong-Soo's official name  
> Hanguk - how South Koreans call South Korea, like a nickname  
> Ibuk - The North -->Informal name South Koreans call North Korea  
> Hanguo - South Korea in Chinese  
> Hyung - older brother (only used by males)  
> Noona - older sister (only used by males)
> 
> 1\. It is in my headcanon that S. Korea probably throws the best parties.  
> 2\. Italy's wearing one of Versace's 2010 fall collection. I like spoiling him. If you wanna take a look, it's over here: http://hommetimes.com/2010/02/versace-fall-2010-mens/versace-fall-2010-44/  
> 3\. It's so hard to describe dancing. You just...do it, you know? Hahaha


	10. Spain|Finland|Germany|England

Miskolc, Hungary. He hasn't been there for a while. He likes visiting other places--really, he does. It's just that his weak economy made the prospect of sleeping at home more desirable these days. Plus meetings never allowed for siestas, no matter how badly he needed it. Well, it was important for him to attend today. He needed to address a few concerns to the summit anyway.  
  
"I'm not happy with the austerity measures. They are too severe."  
  
"That's the spirit," England chipped in.  
  
Spain frowned at him. He was still kind of sore about that drug ring in Ibiza. He looked apologetically at Germany. "Please understand, Alemania. I am not doing this to antagonise you. I just think they are too severe. My people are growing restless."  
  
"I cannot help it, Spanien. You are one of the major powers of the EU. We have to be strict."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Deutschland is actually being lenient with you, Spanien," Austria added calmly.  
  
Spain frowned at Austria. "If I don't let loose on the austerity measures, I _will_ have a strike. A big one."  
  
Tension suddenly filled the air. It wasn't that strikes were rare in Europe--good god, no. It was just that Spain doesn't have big strikes often. He hasn't had one in eight years. ¡Maldita sea! He has the right to be stressed too, you know! Especially with the ETA being more bothersome these days.  
  
"Is that a threat?" Austria asked, a brow raised.  
  
He nervously thumbed the table. "No. But you know that when my people have strikes, it means they are serious."  
  
"Espagne, strikes are _always_ serious."  
  
Prussia snorted and France shot him a glare.  
  
Spain scratched the back of his head. "Well, mine are more serious than yours--but that isn't to offend you." He quickly added his second clause at the look of outrage in France's face. "It's just that I really really mean it when I complain, you know?"  
  
"And _I_ don't?"  
  
"Of course you do."  
  
"Then what are you trying to say?"  
  
They looked at each other. Spain, trying to think of a way out the argument and France daring him to say that his strikes are petty tantrums.  
  
"Dios mio," he muttered as he sank his face into his hands, fingers pressing against his closed eyelids. It was so hard to explain without offending France.  
  
"What he's tryin' te say is that he's had enough of this shit," Ireland snapped.  
  
"Irlanda..." She was a lot tamer today--probably because her worsening economy was starting to finally affect her usual ferocity. That, or because Italy, who usually tries to protect Germany from her, wasn't present in the meeting today. Strange. Maybe something happened in the kiss-off the other day? He'd ask Germany later.  
  
She glared at him. "Shut up. I feel a massive strike comin' on too." She looked at the others. "I bet the rest of you do too."  
  
The others fidgeted uneasily.  
  
"I hate to, like, side with Irlandia, but, I can totes feel it too," Poland said, arms crossed on his chest. "I think we should, like, review this, Niemcy."  
  
"Perhaps if you lot had a flexible _currency_ \--"  
  
" _Inglaterra_ ," Spain said impatiently. "I'm not letting go of the euro." Although in truth, the peseta looked more and more enticing these days.  
  
"Fine," he said, straightening up in his seat. "If you don't want to return to the old way, then why not let Turkey join?"  
  
The others in the room groaned.  
  
"Not this again," Slovenia said, sniffing and squinting.

"Actually, England has a point," Sweden quipped silently, massaging his temples in an attempt to relieve some pressure from the migraine he'd been having because of the election period.  
  
"Not you too, Schweden," Austria said, his expression that of distaste.  
  
"His economy grew by 11% in the first half of the year," Sweden said, trying to keep his gaze straight despite the pain he was experiencing.  
  
"It's rather promising compared to our meagre 2%, if I do say so myself," England added.  
  
"His median age is also 28 compared to our 42," Czech Republic chipped in.  
  
Sweden looked at Germany. "I think we should consider it."  
  
"We prefer to have him as a privileged partner instead," Austria said, resting his hands, fingers entwined, on the table.  
  
"Privileged partnership? That doesn't even exist!" England said, shifting in his seat. "Turkey isn't going to wait forever. After all, if it's the _economy_ you're really thinking about, then there should be no problem."  
  
"Your support for Turquie is quite _suspicious_ , Angleterre," France said, tapping his fingers on the table.  
  
England looked at him slyly. "Jealous, France?"  
  
France spluttered, ears turning red. " _Ridiculous_ , sourcils. I would never--"  
  
His fingers grazed his lips as he observed France haughtily. "Don't worry, darling. Nobody can ever replace _you_."  
  
France glared at him.  
  
Germany cleared his throat, his face hard and displeased. "We will discuss the issue further on a later date, England. It is not scheduled for the day."  
  
_He must really dislike Turquia_ , Spain silently concluded, judging from Germany's expression.  
  
England shrugged and relaxed in his seat. A satisfied smirk on his face despite his argument being dismissed. England was acting kind of weird--being not so irritated this morning.  
  
Spain took the opportunity to try again. "Alemania, the austerity measures?"  
  
"It would be good if we took it a little slower," Greece added weakly, his eyes terribly bloodshot.  
  
Germany looked at them pensively. "If we are to reduce our deficit to gain stability by 2014, certain sacrifices are necessary."  
  
"But," Spain bit his lip. "My people are not machines, Alemania."  
  
"But they sure are lazy," Prussia added, studying his nails.  
  
" _Preussen,_ " Germany and Austria said sternly.  
  
He glared at Prussia. "Gilipollas," he snarled, low and dangerous. "Vete a la mierda."  
  
Prussia held out his palms to face Spain in surrender. "Relax, Spanien," he said with a shit-eating grin.  
  
Belgium looked at Spain, who was trying his hardest not to slam a chair against Prussia's face for insulting his people with what he most probably assumes as a "casual joke". He can be such a capullo when he wants to be. He heard her sigh. "I know it is hard, but please try to bear with it, Spanje."  
  
"Can't we lighten it up just a little bit?"  
  
Germany looked at him apologetically. "Nein. I'm sorry."  
  
"My people will not take kindly to this."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
Germany gave in with a sigh. "If we see an area where we can ease measures, I will inform you immediately."  
  
Spain bit his lip and nodded. At least they were willing to look at it.  
  
Luxembourg stood up. "Now then, onto the next issue." He looked at France. "I call attention to Frankraich's recent Roma expulsions."  
  
Spain saw France perk up in surprise. "Quoi?"  
  
"Everyone who does not wish to hear or get involved in this may leave," Portugal said and then coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Irlanda".  
  
Austria straightened up. "That being said, Preussen, please get out."  
  
Prussia almost fell off his chair. "What?"  
  
He looked at Prussia levelly, Hungary on the other hand, was glaring at him.  
  
"West?"  
  
"I will represent Deutschland for now, Ost."  
  
Prussia bit his lip and scowled. "Fine. If I'm leaving, Irland should too."

Ireland stood up shakily. "I wouldn' want to see someone gettin' roasted in fron' o' me anyway," she said, wiping her nose. She looked at France. "Best o' luck te ye." With that, she stood up and left the room, followed by other nations.  
  
Spain gulped. From the look on Luxembourg's face, this wasn't going to be a friendly conversation. Should he leave? He didn't want to leave France all alone. But then again, Germany was there anyway. Should he leave?  
  
Hungary put a weak hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him. "I'm going to use you as an example, all right?"  
  
Spain's jaw dropped. "¿Que?!"

* * *

Finland massaged his head. _Okay, there's no need to panic. I still have five years. Five years._ The IMF's warning really shook him up a bit. Well, who wouldn't panic? He was predicted to have a debt-to-GDP ratio of 76% in five years. _**76%**_! That was higher than the one he had in 1996*! He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He can do this. He has five years.  
  
_Besides, Ruotsi needs me right now._ He nodded to himself, satisfied with focusing on more pressing matters at the present. In fact, that was why he was roaming the halls in the first place--to find him. The taller nation had been having a severe migraine since his election was going to take place the next day. He'd promised that he'd watch over him until it tides over--and it's not because he's Sweden's wife, good heavens, _no_. He's not anyone's wife.  
  
"YOU DO NOT _TALK_ TO ME LIKE THIS!"  
  
Finland stopped in the middle of the corridor after hearing someone who oddly sounded a lot like France screaming in one of the conference rooms. He walked closer towards where the voice came from. The door was ajar. He took a little peek.  
  
Inside the room were France, Germany, Luxembourg, Portugal, Romania, the Netherlands and Belgium. France was standing up, both palms resting on the table. He looked venomous.  
  
Belgium had her arms crossed and was glaring at France. Luxembourg just looked at the long-haired nation with narrowed eyes while Germany had a pleading look.  
  
France huffed. "I am in the position to deport _illegal immigrants_ from my house."  
  
"These are nomadic people, you can't expect them to stay in just one country," Romania wheezed.  
  
"And how is that _my_ responsibility?"  
  
"You're completely ignoring EU law. We agreed to be non-discriminatory," Belgium said.  
  
"I am deporting _illegal immigrants_. I am not doing it out of racist issues. It is in line with my national policies on territory."  
  
"How odd then that your policies state for you to deport just Romas," Luxembourg pointed out.  
  
"I deport _illegal immigrants_ ," France reiterated, "because not all of us are rich enough to also hold them while keeping to the standard like _you_ are, non?** In fact, if you would like to take them from my hands, I will be indebted to you, _mon cher_."  
  
Luxembourg bit his lip.  
  
" _Francia_ ," Portugal chided him in a warning tone.  
  
"It's also in the EU law that I retain the right and duty to apply the rule of law in my territory and I am exercising that right," he growled. "When I signed up for the Schengen, it was for free movement of labour. Not--Not _this_. Roumanie isn't even fully a Schengen member--"  
  
"We agreed on the free movement of _people_ , Francia," Portugal pressed, albeit weakly. "That includes people of different sorts."  
  
The Netherlands looked at him lazily. "You couldn't have possibly expected that only rich people would go to your house, could you?"  
  
"That is _not_ what I am trying to say."  
  
"I can't believe _you_ out of all of us would do this," Luxembourg said sternly. "I didn't think Europe would witness such a thing again after WW2."  
  
Germany winced. France looked outraged.  
  
"That was uncalled for," came England's quiet and somewhat amused voice out of nowhere. Finland adjusted his position. _Ah there he is. Right behind Ranska_. And Hungary and Spain were beside him. It was strange that England wasn't taking this opportunity to bash France's head in when he had such a clear shot. Then again, England was never predictable when it came to alliances.

"I think Luxemburg is being quite accurate," Hungary said, her voice a little rough.  
  
"Now, guys--" Spain started, presumably to placate the others.  
  
"How could--HOW _DARE_ YOU COMPARE THIS TO--" he took a deep breath and glared menacingly at them. "A plane ticket to one's country of origin in the European Union is not a _death train_ ," he said quietly, his voice shaking in anger.  
  
"Now, now," Portugal interjected, his voice a little tired. "I'm sure he doesn't mean it that way--"  
  
" _No_. This kind of accusation is _unacceptable_."  
  
" _Your_ actions are unacceptable," Luxembourg hissed.  
  
"Oh I see," France said, crossing his arms over his chest. "When _I_ do it, everybody gets angry. But when _Italie_ does it, it's all right.***" He looked at Germany. "Isn't that right, _Allemagne_?"  
  
"Frankreich," Germany said, his eyes tired. "Italien isn't--"  
  
"We're talking about _you_ , France," Belgium cut in.  
  
"Ah of course," France said sarcastically. "Let's focus on France because he's the only one who is doing wrong--"  
  
"Frankreich--"  
  
"Don't," France snarled, pointing at Germany. "Do you think I don't see that you are all ganging up on me?"  
  
"Frankreich, that's not--"  
  
"JUST STOP!" he shouted at Germany. "I don't want to hear you insult me for exercising my _right_."  
  
" _Frankreich_ ," Germany barked sternly, finally standing up. "You are in violation of the anti-discriminatory directive of the EU. If you continue, we will be forced to take legal action."  
  
France and Germany stared at each other. France looking hurt and outraged, Germany looking decided and somewhat cold. Finland cringed from where he was eavesdropping. _That can't be good._  
  
Spain laughed weakly. "A-Alemania, let's not be too hasty." He was ignored.  
  
Hungary sighed after a few moments of silence. "Look, Franciaország, there's a solution to this. Have you studied Spanyolország's integration policy? I think it will be bes--"  
  
"So that's how it is," France said quietly, his voice hurt as he stared at Germany and ignored Hungary. He looked at the others. "Fine. If that's how the rest of you feel, I don't care. I'm doing what is _legally_ best for my people. I have no regrets." He turned around quickly and strode angrily towards the door.  
  
Finland jumped back before the door slammed straight against him. France didn't even notice that he was there, eavesdropping. He thanked God for that. France's angry expression was enough to put Sweden's normal glare to shame.  
  
He watched as France stormed furiously down the hall, disappearing into one of the corridors with an angry turn.  
  
He sighed. The EU wasn't doing so well right now. Really--they didn't need this on top of the economic crisis.  
  
"F-Finland..."  
  
He turned around at the mention of his name only to be assaulted by a fainting Sweden. It was a good thing he was a pro at wife-carrying contests.  
  
Of course, that was not to say that Sweden was his wife or anything--don't be stupid. Haha.  
  
And he's not Sweden's wife either. That's obvious enough. ~~They're both male.~~ Everyone should know that by now...right...?  
  
The fact that they were in an awkward position didn't really help (Sweden's face was buried in his neck and Finland's arms were holding his torso to prevent him from falling). Nor did the flashes from Hungary's camera bring him any comfort.

* * *

Germany hung up. He'd been trying to call France eleven times now and he wouldn't answer. The personnel had informed them that France had left the building and presumably went home already. Was France angry with him? That didn't make sense because Germany was only doing his job. Maybe he just didn't hear his phone?  
  
Germany massaged the bridge of his nose. He'll try to contact him later. Right now, he needed some coffee. He strode towards the pantry, hand reaching to push open the door.  
  
"Oh moj Boze, Niemcy did _what_?" he heard Poland's voice from the inside.

They were talking about him. He stopped in his tracks and stood there, listening.  
  
"He told Franciaország that he'd put sanctions if he doesn't stop the expulsions," Hungary said, sniffing. "And then Anglia kind of defended him."  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
"She isn't kidding," Romania said weakly.  
  
There was a pause. "What did Francja, like, say?"  
  
"Well, he got angry and walked out," he heard Belgium say.  
  
"And Anglia?"  
  
"He didn't follow," Romania answered. "I don't know where he is right now."  
  
Poland gasped. "I knew it! I totally knew they were still hot for each other!"  
  
Germany's jaw tightened.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Like, you guys saw what happened earlier, right? He was like totes flirting with him in public!"  
  
"You're right," Hungary said with a gasp.  
  
His hands tightened into fists. He knew it. He cut their thread of conversation before he could continue flirting with France. So he wasn't just being irrational after all. The others had noticed it.  
  
"Hold on, hold on," he heard Portugal say. "Aren't you guys being a little too hasty?"  
  
"Like, think about it, Portugalia: they had that defence co-op thing recently."  
  
"That's not really--"  
  
"Ooh! Ooh! And that Bastille day parade in 2004! Didn't Franciaország let Anglia lead the parade?"  
  
Germany's spine went rigid. It wasn't France--that was Chirac's idea. It was. Wasn't it?  
  
"What do you think, Irlanda?" Portugal asked.  
  
"Och, I don' give a crap."  
  
"Shouldn't _you_ know?"  
  
"Well, I haven't been spending time with Inglaterra as of late so I don't know."  
  
"Oh! I remember! Back in, like, WW2, Anglia was so pissed when Niemcy got ahold of Francja. He wouldn't, like, shut up about it."  
  
Germany took a deep breath. That was before. That was before and there was nothing happening now. France said that nothing happened in the defence cooperation. Besides, that was the last time they were together alone anyway. They're rarely even together.  
  
"Come to think of it..."  
  
"So we know Anglia's side, but what about Francja?"  
  
"Don't look at me! Espanha would know much better than I would."  
  
"Like, where is he anyway?"  
  
"I think he went to look for Franciaország."  
  
"Shouldn't, like, _Niemcy_ be doing that?"  
  
"I don't know. He stayed in the conference room."  
  
"Ugh. So like Niemcy. I wouldn't be surprised if, like, Francja totes cheated on him."  
  
He felt a strong pang of guilt. But he couldn't retract his statement--that was his job. France would only ever listen to Germany. He needed to do it. Besides, he tried calling him on the phone. France wouldn't cheat on him over something so little. In fact, he was sure that France would never cheat on him.  
  
Okay, _somewhat_ sure.  
  
"Now why would you say that? I'm sure Franca has better integrity than that."  
  
"Didn't you like, _know_? Francja totally thinks Anglia is like the best lay ever."  
  
Germany's eyes widened as he felt his stomach bottom out. _What?_  
  
"Lengyelország!" Hungary hissed. "You weren't supposed to tell everyone else that!"  
  
"Oops."  
  
"T-That's...ugh...too much information," Ireland said, repulsed.  
  
"Sorry," Poland said squeamishly.  
  
"And where'd you get that?" Belgium asked, sceptical. "I doubt France would go around saying such things."  
  
"Kanada," Poland and Hungary said in unison. "Last year."  
  
"We kinda got him drunk and he, like, totes spilled stuff."  
  
"I'm sure Alemanha lives up to the...uhm...standards."  
  
"Can you bloody gits stop talkin' about their sex lives?!"

"You have no idea, Portugalia," Hungary said grimly.  
  
"Wegry, you whore, you said we weren't going to tell them anything!"  
  
"B-But Lengyelország, this is where it gets juicy!"  
  
"You mean he doesn't...meu Deus...I think we can stop talking about it now."  
  
"Aye. Before I get even sicker."  
  
"Do you think Frankrijk is cheating on Duitsland?" Belgium asked.  
  
"Oh! Poor Niemcy!"  
  
"You guys are jumping to conclusions too fast."  
  
"But what if it's true?"  
  
"What if it isn't?"  
  
Silence reigned the pantry.  
  
"We have to get back to the conference room in two minutes, guys," Belgium said.  
  
The others made noises of agreement. Germany walked away from the pantry as quickly as he could--before they discover that he had been eavesdropping.  
  
France wouldn't cheat on him. Would he? And with _England_? Didn't he hate England?  
  
His phone vibrated, signalling that he'd received a text message.  
  
"I am cancelling our meeting tonight. I will meet you tomorrow at noon."  
  
He stared at his phone screen, just reading the text over and over just to be sure. That was the first time France had called off on their night together. They rarely met each other nowadays and often resorted to phone calls. Never text messages. He read it once more for good measure and then pocketed his phone.  
  
He didn't feel like meeting him tonight either.

* * *

"Bloody hell _no_."  
  
The others present in the meeting groaned. Belgium glared at him.  
  
Ireland raised her hand, sneezing into her handkerchief. "I secon' Sasana."  
  
"I'm with them," Denmark said, with a bored expression.  
  
Belgium let out a frustrated sigh. " _Really_ England? Must you?" She looked at Ireland too. "That goes for you too, Ierland."  
  
Ireland made a mocking face.  
  
"Hey, I said that too!" Denmark quipped, only to be given a dry look by Belgium.  
  
She looked back at the other two and crossed her arms on her chest. "What's wrong _this time_?"  
  
"Are you daft? Why would I agree to such a thing? Do you really think that aligning our methods to one standard basis _you_ people are going to set up is going to solve everything?"  
  
She stared at him. " _Yes._."  
  
England crossed his arms over his chest as well. "Well, it doesn't. I've already expressed my issues about defence policies and border control. I'm confident that I can handle myself splendidly."  
  
"That's easy for you to say because you're an island," Netherlands said lazily.  
  
"Well it's not my fault some of us are blessed." Well, he was. The channel served him well over the years.  
  
Belgium sighed heavily. "Look, it will be much harder to track down criminals if we have different protocols! A border-free Europe would have to suffer if citizens don't see the advantages of enhanced judicial co-operation to tackle cross-border crime."  
  
England raised a brow at her. "I stand my ground."  
  
Belgium looked at Germany pleadingly. He'd been quiet ever since France left and never came back.  
  
Germany sighed and stood up. "All in favour, please raise your hands."  
  
The member-states looked at each other uneasily, none raising their hands whereas some seem to want to.  
  
Portugal spoke up. "I think Inglaterra has a point...but I'm still not decided."  
  
Some of the other nations made a noise of agreement.  
  
"Bloody hell, of course I'm right," England muttered, not cringing at the glare Belgium pointed at him.  
  
Luxembourg observed them thoughtfully, his mouth hidden behind his intertwined fingers, nose resting on his knuckles. "I think it would be better to postpone votes. It's getting late and we're not going to be able to reach a sound decision within the given time."  
  
Netherlands stretched. "Yeah, I want to go home early today too. It's been a long day."

Belgium sighed. "Fine. We'll focus on the Olaf in the next summit. This meeting is adjourned."  
  
The nations started to stand up and head for the door.  
  
England counted off France's newspaper companies in his head, to see if he'd missed one. _La Tribune, Le Figaro, Le Monde, Le Parisien, Les Echos, L'Equipe and Liberation...yes, that's about it._ He smiled to himself. Now it was only a matter of time.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by a hand tapping on his shoulder. He turned around.  
  
"Ah, Germany," he said, faking a pleasant smile. "Is there anything I can help you with?"  
  
"I do not mean anything by this, England," he said, trying to mirror the smile, "but are you possibly upset with me?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow at that. _Why yes. Yes, I actually am, you sodding kraut._ "Whatever do you mean, my good man?"  
  
Germany fidgeted. "I have noticed that you have been...unhappy...at the meetings recently. I was thinking if it was in any way my fault."  
  
He gave a small smile. _Of course it's your fault, you twit._ "Now why would you think that?"  
  
The taller nation hesitated. "I was under the assumption that it would have something to do with my relationship with Frankreich."  
  
_Bingo. You're not as dumb as I thought._ "Don't be silly, Germany. Our proposals broke down for a reason." _You._ "What we've shared together is in the past. Think nothing of it."  
  
He looked confused. "Proposals?"  
  
England brightened. He didn't know? "The proposals. You know, WW2 and Suez Canal?"  
  
He delighted in the way the other cringed at the mention of WW2. "I'm afraid I don't understand."  
  
_Oh brilliant._ Both proposals were top secret, of course. He would never have found out about it unless England or France told him.  
  
"Oh come now, I'm sure France has mentioned it. I had proposed to him during WW2 before your occupation. He, in turn, proposed to me in 1956."  
  
He remembered that Germany started courting him in 1951, if his sources were right. They started dating in 1956--a few months after France had abandoned his posh flat along Elysees (where he and England used to meet) in favour of a less glamorous-looking house at the outskirts of Paris, probably in an effort to abandon England and their memories as a whole.  
  
His heart constricted a little at the memory of France's old flat.  
  
"What kind of proposal?"  
  
"Marriage."  
  
It took all of his willpower not to grin at the way the colour and composure fled from the other nation's face.  
  
"He didn't take my rejection kindly. I imagine he must have been devastated," he continued, feigning sympathy. "But it was good that you were there to console him for me."  
  
Germany was speechless.  
  
_That's right, you fucking kraut. He only gave you a chance because I rejected him._  
  
"Well, I should be off then. I imagine David is waiting for me back at home."  
  
"Y-Yes," Germany said, finally recovering but the anxiety caused by the news still visible in his features.  
  
"Good-bye," he said haughtily and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long update is very long. I hope none of you died while reading this. It took me a lot of time to decide whether I should post it. :D
> 
> Notes:
> 
> 1\. Germany is unaware of the very special relationship protocol "Beau before EU directives." Tsk tsk.  
> 2\. Spain said: Jackass. Go to hell. Which pretty much means you shouldn't insult his people or he'll go conquistador on your ass. Not that you guys would like that...would you?  
> 3\. I forgot to say, and Spain kinda implied it in the last chapter: the official representative of Italy in this 'verse is actually Romano, not Veneziano. Yeah. Veneziano's just taking his place while he's bed-ridden because of the recession. I felt it was appropriate because the seat of power is in him.  
> 4\. Another thing I forgot to mention in the last chapter: Germany was drinking (which Italy took a gulp from) Leipziger Gose courtesy of Preussen--not exactly a beer for beginners. Hahaha France's Spanish wine was Garnacha Tinta. Damn me for hurrying to post. Hahaha  
> 5\. All right, just an update: I have fulfilled 83.3% of the prompt already. Hurray!
> 
>  
> 
> *-67%
> 
> **-Bank secrecy issue earlier in 2009. Because I'm a total Eurofag.
> 
> ***-This argument really did come up.
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, let me explain: according to a friend, lots of people in France are not totally against what Nicolas is doing because these are illegal immigrants and they do burden France in a way (God knows they don't need more shit in their hands with the recession and all). The problem is that there's news circulating that Sarkozy's real intention is to expel everyone of Roma ethnicity from France. I don't know which of these is true. If the latter is, I doubt that the French would condone such behaviour. I don't want to condemn anyone until there is enough proof. I initially didn't want to include the roma expulsions out of controversy and such, but since someone asked for it, and it did interest me a bit, I guess I could. France's voice here is mostly Sarkozy and his party (and some genuine French sentiments). Please don't wank here. I want to be able to finish this story, so don't. I beg of you. I don't want this to be banned from finishing because of one of the current events I mentioned--which is not even the centre of this story.
> 
> Chancellor Merkel was said to have bailed out on good ol' Nic at the last minute about the Roma expulsions thing out of political reasons. I don't know how much of this is true, I mean, it's BBC...and you know where BBC came from. honhonhon~ Also, guess what? Cameron said that Reding was tactless and that they shouldn't treat France and Sarkozy like this. Although like a true Englishman, he didn't completely side with the French.


	11. Germany

Because of the riots happening in France's place, they decided to meet in Merzig instead. They would often meet here as well as in other parts of Saarland (and France's border regions)--especially when they had lots of time to spend with each other and wanted to meet halfway. They both like the place because of the quiet it brought to both of them, compared to Berlin and Paris. The fact that Prussia never went to this place was an added bonus. They would meet here sometimes, out of spontaneous desire to see each other.  
  
But today, they exchanged no pleasantries--not even a peck on the cheek. France went straight to the kitchen and started to cook while Germany contemplated on how to approach the situation.  
  
It felt strange and cold as they ate dinner together in seemingly hostile silence. Not even France's cooking toned down the dreadful air.  
  
It was strange that France was keeping his distance today. He had not gone into his usual touchy-feely self. It was like he was avoiding him because he was guilty of something. He was not sure, but France's behaviour did not put him at ease.  
  
"I have...come across some old documents," Germany started, as he stared at his untouched cognac. He'd searched for the documents the entire night--forgetting to get some sleep. Needless to say, what he found made him feel much worse.  
  
France raised an eyebrow at him as he sipped his digestif.  
  
He can do this. He can. "Interesting documents...about you and England."  
  
"What else is new?"  
  
Germany gripped his glass tightly. _What else is new?_ So France was not denying it. Germany willed himself to calm down. He should stay calm. There was no point in short-circuiting. "It says that you have...proposed to England. Back in the 50's."  
  
"It does, does it?"  
  
He braced himself. "Are you denying it?"  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"No," came the cool reply.  
  
Germany's brow creased. Why hasn't he heard of this before? Why didn't France mention anything? "And England has proposed to you as well. During the war. Before I took you."  
  
"He did."  
  
He felt his anger start to simmer. France was taking it in a stride and made no move to reassure Germany of anything. Was France just using him to make England jealous? Did he merely use him to quell the pain he felt after breaking it off with England? Did he even break off with him at all? Germany wanted to know. But instead, he asked: "Why was I not privy to this?"  
  
"Does it matter?" he asked, standing up and taking the plates and utensils to the sink.  
  
"Why would it not?"  
  
He heard France inhale sharply as he dropped what he was carrying into the sink. He gripped the counter. "How about _I_ ask you a few things, mon cher?" France asked in a calm voice, his back to Germany. "How was your trip to the Mediterranean?"  
  
Germany's eyes narrowed. "I don't see how--"  
  
" _How was it?_ "  
  
He held the man in a calculating gaze before licking his lips and answering: "It was business as usual. Griechenland is still having some problems but we are getting through it just fine."  
  
France turned back around, expression unreadable as he took his glass and settled back at the sink. He tucked his left wrist under his right elbow as he gazed at Germany. "And what of Italie?"  
  
_Italien?_ "He is doing well. We have observed some growth in his economy."  
  
France looked away and bit his lip before looking back. "I heard he held a kiss-off recently."  
  
He looked up at his lover. He couldn't have...heard about that...could he? It wasn't like it meant anything. "Yes. Yes he has. It was a petition to review the anti-discrimination directive against homosexuals. He thought that I may help convince Belgien."  
  
"I see," France said with a laugh that sounded too bitter and jaded for him. "I suppose the kiss you shared with him has made up your mind quite well."

Germany stiffened. "W-What are you--"  
  
France marched back to his chair, took out an envelope from his file case and threw right in front of Germany. He leaned back on the sink and looked away as he sipped his cognac.  
  
He looked at France as he took the envelope. Curious, he opened the envelope and looked at its contents. They were pictures. Pictures and newspaper clippings. Pictures of Italy kissing him fully on the mouth amongst his citizens and him holding the other nation against his body as they did. In every possible angle that made it seem to hold more meaning than it really does. Complete with negatives. The way it was photographed made it look like he and Italy were passionate lovers. Germany's mouth went dry. How did France get this? No one else had been there. He was sure there was no one they knew there. He wasn't even aware of it being taken. He felt guilty. He didn't know what possessed him at the time, but he didn't push Italy back. But that didn't mean that he felt something for his Mediterranean friend.  
  
"Am I supposed to assume that your little makeout session was also strictly business?"  
  
Germany frowned, looking up at his lover's now hostile face. "My relationship with Italien is nothing but platonic." Really, it is.  
  
France scoffed. "The picture says otherwise."  
  
"What are you trying to say?"  
  
France glared at him. "That you have the audacity to be suspicious of me when it is you who are actually cheating!" he growled.  
  
"I was not cheating. I have been nothing but loyal."  
  
"I suppose it was an accident then and Italie just kissed you out of the heat of the moment?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
France smashed his drink into the floor, making Germany wince. "Do not make a fool of me, Allemagne!" he snarled, his eyes were filling with tears. "I expected this from Angleterre, but not you!" He covered his face with both hands. "Not you," he said in a choked up voice.  
  
Germany felt an incredible pain in his chest. He stood up and tried to reach for France. "Frankreich--"  
  
"Don't touch me!" France hissed, slapping his hand away.  
  
He stood there and watched as France cried. He felt helpless. He didn't know much about dealing with emotions. He wanted France to stop crying. He didn't cheat--he knew it. He wanted France to know it. He wanted to reassure him that there was nothing between him and Italy. It was just Italy being Italy and randomly kissing people. There was nothing behind it at all.  
  
But at the same time, he felt angry. He was angry that France so readily believed that he could cheat on him. He was angry that France didn't even let him defend himself. He was angry that France was allowed to keep secrets from him but not vice versa. He wouldn't put it past France to put a tail on him so he could justify his own secret affair.  
  
"Don't you trust me?" he asked, watching the other man.  
  
"I used to. I used--"  
  
"There is nothing between Italien and I," he said firmly, and kind of coldly. France shouldn't be thinking of him like this, regardless of so-called evidence. "I would never betray you."  
  
France glared at him. "That's what they always say."  
  
He glared back. "That kiss meant nothing," he said. "Those pictures prove nothing."  
  
"They prove that the kiss happened."  
  
Germany's patience snapped. "You think that because you have pictures that it is proof enough that I am cheating on you?" he retorted, annoyance finally taking over his system. France wasn't being fair about judging him at all. "How am I sure that _you_ had not cheated on me with _England_ during your so-called defence cooperation? Perhaps I should have had some people watch you too."  
  
France's open palm cracked against Germany's cheek. "Angleterre and I did nothing wrong," he hissed. "He kept his distance."  
  
_Did **you**?_ "Neither did I do anything wrong with Italien."  
  
"And there was _nothing wrong_ about making out with him behind my back?" France shouted. "What else did you do with Italie that the cameras didn't capture? Maybe I should have made out with Angleterre too, non?"

Germany couldn't resist. The image of France with England wrapped him in overwhelming rage and hurt. His fist slammed against France's jaw.  
  
France looked up at him in shock, his lip bleeding. Germany felt regret wash over him at the look on the other's face. It was that same face he had in WW2 when his boss ordered him to punch France.  
  
France snapped out of it and socked him on the cheek as well. Germany fell back a few steps before he recovered his balance.  
  
"I should have known this would happen! Angleterre warned me! He knew this would happen! I should have listened to him!"  
  
"Why would his opinion matter?" Germany retorted hotly, massaging his cheek. "Is it because you love him?"  
  
France did not reply and simply glared at him, breathing heavily as he did. A few minutes ticked by.  
  
Germany's heart started to crumble as he waited for a denial that didn't come. "Frankreich?"  
  
France looked away and roughly wiped a teardrop from his eye.  
  
_It can't be._  
  
"Frankreich," he said, hearing his voice break along with his heart. "Do you love him?"  
  
France angrily looked back at him. "I told you," he snapped. "I told you back then not to let Angleterre into the group, but did you listen? No! You didn't even think about how I was feeling! You _never_ do! All you thought about was work!"  
  
His eyes hardened. "You did not answer the question," he said, trying his hardest to keep his voice calm. He didn't know why he even continued to ask when he didn't want to hear the answer, but he couldn't help himself.  
  
" _Do you love him_?"  
  
France bit his lip and looked around, breathing heavily, before letting his tearful gaze fall back to the other man.  
  
"Yes."  
  
The sound of his breaking heart was deafening. It reverberated in his bones, in his skull, in his soul. He felt hot tears start to prickle in his eyes. His throat felt too tight and his chest felt like it was covered with sharp shards of glass. He felt as if the floor was pulled out from right under his feet. His eyes were still on France, but unseeing.  
  
"I think we should stop seeing each other."  
  
France took his jacket from his chair and promptly left.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> I'm a horrible person, I know. I probably lost a handful of readers from this chapter. Ahahaha.
> 
> So which of them do you think really cheated here? France, Germany, both or neither?
> 
> 1\. I actually have no news about the gay kiss-off so some of this is entirely made up. Yeah. To any Italian readers out there, did it actually happen? Because I didn't get to read anything on it.  
> 2\. Cognac is apparently no match against stress brought about by rioting French people, economic depression and a supposedly philandering German boyfriend.  
> 3\. I technically have support for every possible scenario that could happen in this story except for one of them dying. That's some flexibility you guys gave me there. Thanks! :D  
> 4\. On a somewhat unrelated note, I read from Spiegel Online and The Local that Germany's infiltrated the Chunnel. From a hetalia point-of-view, the article was kind of...erotic. >////< Hahaha (here's a link from The Local: http://www.thelocal.de/national/20101013-30481.html) Enjoy. :P
> 
> Okay. Time for a little quiz.
> 
> Really easy bonus question: We know who gave the pictures to France's media...but where did England get them?


	12. Russia

"I am surprised that M. Bonnefoy is not here."  
  
Russia looked back at the two men at the table. He had tuned out once they started exchanging pleasantries half an hour ago. He did so a lot when he was the only nation present in a meeting between two world leaders. It happens a lot (just like with Italy's boss Berlusconi a few weeks ago). He got used to it.  
  
Sarkozy sipped his wine and looked at Putin carefully. "Yes. M. Bonnefoy is...indisposed at the moment."  
  
"I hope it is nothing serious?" Putin said, hand holding the wine glass frozen midway to his mouth.  
  
Sarkozy shook his head. "France...Mr. Bonnefoy merely wishes to be alone for while. He took the austerity measures rather hard."  
  
Russia studied him. He was lying; he knew it. France wouldn't miss meeting with Russia in an effort to boycott his boss. He would do so with meetings with other countries, perhaps, but never with Russia. There was a good chance that Sarkozy didn't even know where France was at that very moment.  
  
"Of course," Putin said in agreement. "It is rather hard to adapt to large changes. I'm sure he will understand your efforts in time."  
  
"It has nothing to do with Germaniya, does it?" Russia asked in what he hoped was a pleasant enough voice.  
  
Sarkozy's shoulders tensed. _Eureka._ The Frenchman laughed. "No, no, I assure you, M. Braginsky, our relations with Germany are as good as ever."  
  
Russia studied him. This man--France's boss--was all about showmanship. France would tell him how seemingly juvenile he is at dealing with his people and the media compared to his predecessors--Chirac, Mitterand, and most especially de Gaulle. France had once remarked that Sarkozy was sometimes more of an actor than the president of France. One quality, which, France found amusing, if not irritatingly undignified.  
  
In a way, he and Putin were similar. Putin had a knack for showmanship (e.g. horse riding bare-chested), although his boss retained more dignity than France's boss could hope to achieve. They were similar in a lot of ways, but Putin has so far shown more maturity in the matter of handling media. But he was not that much better.  
  
At least, for now, Putin has not done something too unpopular to get him ousted. Yet.  
  
Russia gave him an empty smile. Why hadn't France called him? When did something happen? More importantly, what did Germany do?  
  
"Russia here," Putin said with a small smile, gesturing to Russia who was beside him, "was rather enthusiastic about meeting his old friend. He decided to accompany me instead of M. Medvedev to China just to see him."  
  
Russia looked at his boss.  
  
"Ah! In that case, I apologise, M. Braginsky. I am sure he will meet you in the three-way summit in Deauville on the 18th."  
  
Russia looked back at the French president and grinned. "That is fine, Gospodin Sarkozy. I take no offence."  
  
Sarkozy gave him a tired smile and then looked back at his boss. "I have heard that you have finalized your deal with Alstrom?"  
  
Putin nodded, finally drinking his wine. "Yes. I am sure the Allegro will benefit greatly from your trains."  
  
They were starting to indulge idle chatter again. He stood up. Both men looked at him. "I am going out for little smoke," he said politely. "Please excuse me."  
  
Both leaders nodded and Russia made his way out. He walked down the hallway, scarf swishing as he did, looking for a more private place. The servants roaming the halls cowered from his towering height--Russia paid them no mind. He always had an intimidating demeanour. He settled for one of the abandoned rooms and bolted the door behind him.

He long-pressed the 2 button on his phone and listened, cheeks puffing out. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six rings. He let out the air in his cheeks. France never goes past four rings when he isn't with his boss. Something was wrong.  
  
When the call went into voicemail, Russia ended it. He redialled and waited for an answer.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
He looked at his phone. Something was definitely wrong. He bit his lip and looked for Germany's number. His thumb hovered over the phone in hesitation for a few moments and then pressed the button to call.  
  
One ring. Two rings.  
  
"Hallo?"  
  
Why was Prussia answering the phone? "Prussiya," he said with a smile.  
  
He imagined Prussia's spine freezing to attention at the sound of his voice.  
  
"W-What the _fuck_ do _you_ want?"  
  
He clucked his tongue. "Ah Prussiya. You should watch your tongue. We are friendly now, da?"  
  
Prussia grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Hau ab, Affenschwanz". Russia wouldn't put such brand of vulgarity past him.  
  
"Shto? I did not hear."  
  
"Do you have business with me?"  
  
"Nyet. I was hoping to talk to Germaniya. I understand this is his number?"  
  
"This is the _office number_."  
  
_Typical._ Who besides France, America, China, Cuba and Belarus ever gave him their personal numbers? "So it seems."  
  
"What do you want anyway? We're reviewing your Energy charter already. Don't get your panties in a bunch."  
  
_So crass._ He never changes. "I was going to ask about Frantsiya."  
  
The hesitant silence on the other end of the line only proved his suspicions further.  
  
He leaned against the wall. "You see, he did not attend railway opening in Nice. I was wondering if he is in Berlin or if Germaniya knows where he is."  
  
There was a second and then he growled, "He isn't fucking here."  
  
_It seems their relations have soured then._ He smiled widely. "Spasibo, Prussiya. That was all I needed to know."  
  
The line died without Prussia even bothering to say good bye. He always did lack some manners. It was something Russia failed to teach him.  
  
Russia looked at the wall in front of him thoughtfully. He would have called England just to be sure, but that was in bad taste--France would confirm that himself.  
  
He straightened up. He was going to wait for France to call him. Yes. That was the best way. If he doesn't, he could always send someone to check on him. In fact, wasn't China going to meet them in a few days?  
  
Mind made up, he walked back towards where his boss and Sarkozy were dining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. Putin did not in fact go to Nice and neither did Sarkozy. I just thought it would be fun to have them both instead of a couple of foreign dignitaries.  
> 2\. Allegro transit - Moscow to Helsinki speed rail  
> 3\. Preußen says: Fuck off, monkey dick. Yeah.


	13. China

"O moj Boze, Prusy! You actually like totally _did it_ , didn't you? You're horrible!" Poland said, walking over towards Prussia at the far end of the table.  
  
"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"  
  
"Like, I can't believe you totally killed Niemcy so you could be, like, your own country again. I mean, that's like so _low_ \--"  
  
" _WHAT?!?!_ "  
  
"Calm down," China said, massaging his temples. It was useless though; he could hardly be heard by all the noise around him. He shouldn't even be the one trying to placate the members of the EU. The meeting already dissolved into chaos once the tension concerning the peculiar absences broke.  
  
He knew he shouldn't have gone to Brussels. He knew he shouldn't have gone to _Europe_. Not only were they loud, they were also full of nonsense, rude and very violent--that much was true from the fact that Germany's proxy was currently giving Poland the finger. Even China knew what that meant.  
  
 _Ouzhou._ Always, _always_ so disrespectful.  
  
It was bad enough that they even scheduled to meet him and South Korea _on the same day_ , but they were ignoring him in favour of fooling around. Add to that was the fact that the two major powerhouses of the EU were not present. He sighed. If he listed down all the disrespectful things the EU had done to him that day, he would just get angry. And Confucius did say that staying angry at another person, or in this case, _nations_ , was simply punishing one's self. He should stay calm.  
  
To be honest, after learning that South Korea was attending, he just intended to send a few subordinates in his stead, but Russia had specially asked for his report. After all, Russia could only trust China when it came to analysis. And what are _close friends_ for?  
  
Well, he did have other reasons for coming over. He needed to talk to them about investments, about that Nobel Prize issue (which was unfortunately something he can't discuss here because he kept forgetting that Norway wasn't part of the EU) and lastly (which was already stated earlier), he was asked by Russia to check on France--who was absent today, along with Germany.  
  
Russia had shared his hypothesis and it looks like he was right.  
  
"I'm sorry about them," Greece, who sat beside him, said, coughing. He really looked sick. Out of all of them, he was probably the most sick. This was the reason why China had decided to buy government stocks from him instead. It was a good way to get on the good side of the EU.  
  
China patted his back. "Don't worry," he said, with a smile. "I should have been used to it after the way Faguo and Yingguo treated me before."  
  
Greece smiled weakly.  
  
"Speaking of which, where is Faguo?"  
  
Greece merely shrugged and sneezed into his handkerchief. "Nobody here knows."  
  
Czech Republic, who sat across China, leaned over. "I think they finally broke up or something."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Nemecko and Francie," she whispered.  
  
"Don't you think you're thinking too much, Tsechias?"  
  
She shrugged. "Polsko told me that Francie was really upset about that whole Roma expulsions deal. I mean, he didn't come back last time, did he?"  
  
China rested his chin on the palm of his hand. _Well, Faguo did like going on strikes._  
  
"I hope not," Slovenia, who was on Greece's other side, said quietly, sniffing. "If they break up, who knows what'll happen to all of us?"  
  
"I don't think they would," Malta added, appearing all of a sudden beside Czech Republic. "I mean, they've been together for a while now, right? I don't think they'd break up that fast."  
  
"Yeah well Anglie was also with Francie for an even longer time," Czech Republic said, settling back in her seat. "That didn't help their relationship at all."  
  
The others nodded.  
  
"The union doesn't solely rely on them," Estonia said stiffly, from China's other side. "The EU is too powerful to break up because of a minor scuffle between Prantsusmaa and Saksamaa."  
  
"B-But I-Igaunija," Latvia said shakily, clutching at Estonia's sleeve. "W-What if it d-d-d-d-oes--"

"I told you, Lati, the EU is not in any danger at all," Estonia said kind of coldly, fixing his spectacles on his face. "Their problem is personal."  
  
"But Vokietija has never been absent before," Lithuania, who sat across Greece, muttered. "I wonder if Prusija is going to represent him from n--"  
  
"That's ridiculous," Estonia said with a scowl. "I'm sure Saksamaa is just fixing a few problems at home."  
  
Two strong hands found their way on China's chest.  
  
"HYUNG!" Korea cried in his ear. "HYUNG, HYUNG, SAVE ME! OSEUTEU LEIL LIA IS GOING TO HURT ME!!!!!!"  
  
"LET GO!" China screamed, trying to pry the younger nation's fingers from his chest and ignoring the pain in his ear. South Korea's wailing must have shattered his eardrum. He'd have to consult a doctor when he gets back.  
  
"I am Osterreich!" Austria said, brow twitching and throwing a stuffed Koala bear at South Korea. He looked at China pleadingly. "Please keep him here. We have important matters to discuss." He left in a huff.  
  
South Korea's hands were still on China's chest.  
  
"Hanguo, let go, he gone already!" China gritted out, trying to wrench the other's hands away.  
  
"B-But hyung!"  
  
China elbowed him in the face, causing South Korea to release him. China panted and quickly grabbed his filecase and put it on top of his chest for protection.  
  
South Korea was immediately back on China, this time his arms rested on his shoulders, his chin on China's head and a pepero stick in his mouth (China could hear the munching). "What are you guys talking about?" he asked, as if nothing happened even though his forehead was probably red from where China had elbowed him.  
  
"Deguo and Faguo," China mumbled, clutching the filecase to his chest.  
  
"Oh!" South Korea said thoughtfully. "What about them?"  
  
"C-C-C-C-Cehija t-t-thinks they b-b-b-broke up," Latvia stuttered.  
  
"Wow! Really?" South Korea said, leaning more of his weight on China.  
  
"Aiyah! Hanguo get off of--"  
  
"Why, why? Is it because of a new guy?"  
  
Lithuania scratched the back of his head. "Erm. Well..."  
  
"I think it's out of ideological--"  
  
"Pffft that's lame!" South Korea said, laughing. "You can't make a romance story without another guy--that's boring!"  
  
"Loves story?" Estonia asked, raising a brow at him.  
  
"Hanguo," China said, impatience growing by the minute. He knew what was going to happen. South Korea was going to go on his K-drama game where he makes stories up that try to simulate what was really happening between a group of people and then try to make an ending that was similar to his famous K-dramas (which he says were plausible outcomes to whatever was going to happen). He usually played this game with Taiwan and often times forced China to play along, so he could think up of his next blockbuster K-drama. Or advertise old ones.  
  
China does not like playing this game. "This not a--"  
  
"Oh! Oh! I know, let's pick a random guy here," he said, scanning the room. "That guy! Yeong-gug! Let's make him the other guy."  
  
"That's actually...kind of accurate," Greece said, brows shooting up.  
  
South Korea grinned. "Yeah, I'm awesome like that. So Yeong-gug and Peulangseu fight over Dog-il--"  
  
"I think it's more accurate if you put Francie in the middle."  
  
"Eh?!? But Peulangseu has a beard! The one in the middle has to be girly!"  
  
"Nemecko is full of muscles and chiseled features," Czech Republic said, laughing. "Besides, Francie has long hair."  
  
"I can't believe you're actually goin' along with this," Ireland said, speaking for the first time from beside Lithuania.  
  
Czech Republic smiled at her. "There's nothing to do. Besides, Polsko, Mad'arsko and Rakousko are cornering Prusko right now. And it looks like Belgie, Lucembursko and Spanelsko are going to get involved too. It's not like we'll be continuing the meeting soon."  
  
China would have turned around to check (like the others are) if South Korea didn't have his head in a death grip.  
  
"Hanguo--"  
  
"Okay, Peulangseu is the beloved son of a film director trying to--"

"We're _countries_ ," Ireland cut in. "And what are ye tryin' te do anyway?"  
  
"I'm obviously playing a game," South Korea said, rolling his eyes and putting another pepero stick in his mouth, as if he'd already given an introduction to this game when he actually didn't. "Fine. Peulangseu is Peulangseu. Whatever. So Peulangseu was having a really really bad time with his economy--"  
  
"Aren't we all?" Ireland muttered, which got her shushed. She ignored them. "No really, what are ye doin'?"  
  
"He play K-drama game," China grunted. "Make up story. Not real, not serious and very stupid."  
  
"Hyung! It's not stupid!"  
  
"Go on, continue," Czech Republic encouraged, smiling. "I want to hear his story."  
  
"He went to a fountain, wishing his economy would get better by having a new ally. That's when he meets Yeong-gug! They fall in hatred at first sight."  
  
"You're good," Netherlands said, his face amazed. He was suddenly sitting beside Ireland.  
  
"When you come over here?!" China snapped. No really, he didn't even notice Netherlands nearby. The European nation merely shrugged at him.  
  
South Korea beamed at him. "He hires Peulangseu to act as his ally so he can get investments from another guy. Peulangseu agrees. So Yeong-gug takes him to buy a dress--"  
  
"Why would he buy him a dress?!" Ireland said incredulously.  
  
"Well, Gallia used to wear dresses," Greece said thoughtfully, wiping his nose. "I think he still does sometimes."  
  
Ireland looked at Greece, brows arched and her expression a lot sicker than before. "What makes you think we'd all wan' te know abou' that?"  
  
"Aiya! Faster!" China growled, feeling the weight of South Korea starting to hurt his spine.  
  
"You guys are ruining my story!" South Korea whined throttling China a bit. "Forget the dress, Yeong-gug buys him a suit or whatever. And they go to meet his business acquaintances! It all goes well until somebody accuses Peulangseu as a pervert and breaks down the agreements."  
  
"Now _that's_ accurate," Ireland remarked with a smile.  
  
"Stop interrupting," Slovenia said, waving her hand at Ireland from across the table.  
  
"So they end on bad terms and Peulangseu goes back to the fountian, riding a bike. But then his bike broke. There he meets Dog-il who helps him out of the goodness of his heart. In fact, Dog-il falls in love with Peulangseu! You see, Dog-il, compared to Yeung-gug, is a care-free spirit--"  
  
"And now you're wrong again," Ireland commented.  
  
"Irlanda," said Portugal, whom nobody noticed suddenly come in and who was suddenly beside Malta. "Let him finish."  
  
"Yes," China said, exasperated. "Finish already so he release me!" He already had an inkling where the story was headed.  
  
South Korea hugged him closer. "So they meet up. Dog-il is a carefree spirit who goes with the flow. He instantly falls in love with Peulangsu. Peulangseu finds him handsome but doesn't really like him. Probably a crush. Dog-il pursues Peulangseu with his sweetness and all-around effort to be more responsible for him. It all goes kind of well until Yeong-gug, who turns out to be Dog-il's cousin, re-enters the scene, this time, realizing that he's also in love with Peulangseu--but decides not to tell her."  
  
"Him," Denmark corrected, listening intently. Where were all these nations coming from? And when did he take the seat beside Slovenia?  
  
"Oh yeah, him," South Korea said, smiling uneasily. "When Peulangseu sees him again, he falls in love with him too, but decides to stick with Dog-il because they're too different in economic status and Yeung-gug's parents don't like Peulangseu for him because Yeung-gug is going to be the next head of the family and a marriage with Peulangseu wouldn't really help him. As time goes on, Dog-il starts to notice that they like each other. He was sad, of course, and tries to do all that he can to separate them. He tries and tries but it didn't look like they would fall out of love soon. Peulangseu is confused too. He doesn't know whether he should go to the bad man he fell in love with or to the good man he is currently with who he doesn't really love--and he doesn't want to hurt Dog-il too because he is a good friend is a nice guy--"  
  
Ireland snorted. The others listening to South Korea shushed her.

South Korea frowned at her and then continued. "Dog-il continues his relationship with Peulangseu as if he doesn't know because he's sure that Peulangseu will love him in time. One day, he gets hit by a car and goes into a comma--"  
  
"Pffft it takes _more than a car_ to knock 'im out," Ireland muttered.  
  
"Irlanda!"  
  
"Stop interrupting!" Great, so now Estonia was getting caught up in it too.  
  
China couldn't take it anymore. "So Deguo get amnesia and not remember loving Faguo so now Faguo free to have relationship with Yingguo but Faguo stupid so he run away because guilty but Yingguo find him in fountain and Faguo not run anymore! There! Now everybody happy! Get off, Hanguo!" he screamed, trying to get South Korea's arms off his shoulders.  
  
"Hyung!" South Korea cried, not letting go of China. "How'd you know how it's gonna end?"  
  
"Because you copy story from Ba li lian ren*! Now, GET OFF!"  
  
"You watched it! I _knew_ you loved me, hyung!" he said, hugging China tighter. "And I didn't copy it! Pari-ui Yun-in* originated from me!"  
  
"GET OFF!" he said, using his foot to try to break South Korea's hold.  
  
South Korea remained steadfast in his embrace.   
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGHH!!" China tried to dislodge him but flailing around, but to no avail.  
  
"I don't think it would go that way," Czech Republic said, laughing.  
  
"It was a good story though."  
  
Netherlands had a lop-sided smile. "Yeah but Engeland doesn't have parents--"  
  
"You want another story?" South Korea asked excitedly as China struggled in his arms.  
  
"NO!" China shouted. "Get off!"  
  
"Sure, why not?" Denmark said, smiling. "We have time to kill."  
  
"Okay! So Peulangseu is having trouble with his economy and has nothing to eat. So he enters Dog-il's house to get food and shelter because Dog-il is rich--"  
  
"I think you're more accurate here," Ireland cut-in again.  
  
"Irlandia, if you're, like, not going to listen, go over there with, like, Belgia and Prusy, all right?"  
  
They all turned to look at Poland, who was standing behind Malta.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Aren't you..." Greece started, and then shook his head. "Never mind."  
  
Poland flipped his hair back with his hand. "Like, continue, Korea."  
  
"So Dog-il comes home, and finds him."  
  
"Oooh! Is this going to involve sex?" Hungary blurted out, appearing beside Poland.  
  
Ireland made choking noises while some of the others looked more sick than ever. China himself felt sick.  
  
"You...you guys wanted...porn?" South Korea asked, uncertain.  
  
"NO," came the loud reply from the others, the loudest being China.  
  
South Korea sighed in relief. "Okay! So Dog-il finds him and gets angry. He threatens to call the police on him, but then gets an idea. He decides that he wants Peulangseu to pretend that he's Dog-il's long lost cousin for Dog-il's dying grandfather--"  
  
"Why does Prancuzija always seem to have to pretend to be someone else?" Lithuania asked, raising his hand as if he were asking a question in class.  
  
"Like, Litwa! Can you not?"  
  
"But--"  
  
"It's part of the plot, okay? Dog-il doesn't really think much of Peulangseu and only hired her to be his fake cousin."  
  
"Him," Denmark corrected again.  
  
"Aigoo! Just pretend I say him when I say her, okay?" he said, annoyed. "Okay, so when Dog-il's grandpa sees Peulangseu, he regains energy and returns back to health immediately, which now forces Peulangseu to stay in the agreement for much longer. He doesn't really like fooling an old man, but because she has no money, Peulangseu agrees. As time passes, Peulangseu spends more time with Dog-il's family, which starts forming affections between the two. Of course, since she is staying with Dog'il's family, he ends up meeting Yeong-gug, who is Dog-il's badass best friend. He also falls in love with Peulangseu and ends up flirting with him all the time."  
  
"Oooh! Now that's, like, totes accurate," Poland said with wide eyes, only to be shushed.

"Because he and Dog-il are supposed to be cousins, he can't pursue Peulangseu. Yeong-gug takes advantage of this. He even goes as far as offering marriage to Peulangseu through Dog-il's grandfather. Dog-il gets very depressed and conflicted because this was all his doing. But! But Peulangseu loves Dog-il, not Yeong-gug. Dog-il, unable to keep his affections to himself any longer, decides to confess to Peulangseu and they keep their relationship secret. And then--"  
  
"Grandpa find out Faguo is fake so he and Deguo break up and Faguo run away and Deguo not know where he is then Yingguo find first take advantage but Faguo not love him and Yingguo very very sad so in ending Deguo find Faguo and Faguo go to grandpa to ask forgiveness then he forgiven and he and Deguo live happy happy. The end. LET GO NOW, HANGUO!"  
  
"Wow! You watched Mai Geol** too, hyung?" South Korea said, smile so wide it could split his face in two. "I KNEW YOU LOVE ME!"  
  
"Don't be dumb! Wo de nu hai** very stupid!"  
  
"It's not stupid! K-drama is the best ever!" Korea shouted, being shaken around by China's struggling. "If you don't like it, why don't you give a story?"  
  
China stopped his struggling and thought about it. "If you release me, I tell story. Hao bu hao?"  
  
South Korea thought about it for a few more moments before finally letting him go.  
  
China breathed a sigh of relief. What story should he give now? He wasn't big on romance, really. _Maybe I should take one from Taiwan's entertainment industry?_ Yes, that should do. Taiwan always loved romance stories.  
  
"The second was nice, but it doesn't really apply to them," Portugal said thoughtfully. "I mean, they weren't really keeping their relationship a s--"  
  
"I think--I think I like the first one better."  
  
Everybody turned to the directon of the voice. Italy was standing behind Ireland.  
  
Italy's shoulders jumped. "I-I mean...because people don't end up getting hurt so much in the first one."  
  
Poland raised a brow at him. "Like, Wlochy, Niemcy got hit by a car in that story."  
  
Italy looked down and bit his lip. "W-Well, I mean, he doesn't remember being hurt, I mean..."  
  
"I like the first one as well."  
  
The others gasped. It was England. He was standing beside South Korea. Had he been listening the entire time? When did he leave his seat beside Belgium?  
  
China rested his chin on his palm and looked at England, brows arched. "Dangran a. When did _you_ ever get content after losing? Even if the prize is Faguo."  
  
England chuckled. "I never lose, China--you know that. Regardless of the nature of the prize."  
  
China scowled at him. _Insufferable meimao._  
  
England crossed his arms on his chest. "So what's _your_ story?"  
  
China crossed his arms as well and sat back in his chair. "I don't think Yingguo would appreciate my story."  
  
"Oh come now, China," he said, studying his fingernails. "You know that has never stopped me."  
  
China gripped the armrest of his seat. "Okay. Faguo meets Yingguo when they were kids. At first, they were in love but Faguo soon goes out of love for Yingguo because he is immature and violent--" England scoffed, chuckling to himself. "--Faguo breaks up with Yingguo. Yingguo is upset and sleeps with many people because he is angry and wants to take revenge on others for being left behind. Faguo never left his heart. Soon, he sees that Faguo now has Deguo. Yingguo is bitter and jealous and does all that he can to break them up. Deguo finds out about their past and is hurt and insecure about it. Faguo is guilty of hurting them both and decides to not choose between them and live on his own. Yingguo lives miserably until he dies and Deguo becomes a monk."  
  
England was no longer smiling. In fact, he looked kind of hollow.  
  
"That's...kind of sad," Denmark said, brows knitted. The others made a noise of agreement.  
  
"It's _very sad_ ," Spain said, frowning and sniffing behind Greece. When did _he_ get there?  
  
"Yeah, you suck at romance, hyung," South Korea said.  
  
His brow twitched. "Not everything is about romance, Hanguo," China said, wondering why England was so affected by his fictional loss in his story. He didn't think he was that much of a sore loser.

"I think," he heard Belgium say from behind South Korea, "that we should adjourn. It's been a long day."  
  
China swivelled his chair so he can look at her. "But we hardly discuss anything today."  
  
"I know," Belgium said sadly. "But I think everyone's had enough for today. Pruisen has already gone ahead."  
  
"I agree," England said, going back to his smug demeanor as if he hadn't been sad just a few moments ago.  
  
China stood up, scowling. "Next time, don't waste so much time arguing." He took his filecase. "Will Faguo be here tomorrow? And Deguo too?"  
  
Belgium rubbed her arm. She looked very stressed. "I don't really know. But the negotiations will continue with or without them."  
  
China looked at her. For a woman, she knew how to handle herself well, but still not better than a man would have. He nodded. The other nations parted to give him way. He walked towards the exit.  
  
 _So it's true. I'd better tell Eguo later._  
  
"Hyung!" South Korea's voice reverberated along the hallway. "Wait for me!"  
  
China's shoulders jumped. He immediately tucked his filecase under his arm and made a run for it.  
  
"HYUNG!" he heard from a distance that was getting uncomfortably closer by the second.  
  
Russia owed him big this time.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Lovers in Paris. I figure Yong Soo would use this more than the others because, well, it's based in Paris. The first part at least. In case you're wondering, yes, it's a Yong Soo original.   
> ** - My Girl. Yes, he did major tweaks on both stories so they'd fit more into the situation of France and Germany. I didn't really spoil you guys so much. Plus China ended both prematurely so you don't get too spoilt.
> 
>  
> 
> 1\. China chose Love Scar from Taiwan's dramas. Wait till he finds out it's actually originally from Japan. >w< Yeah, he tweaked the ending.  
> 2\. When China gets upset by Hanguk he goes back to broken English. I love him. Hahaha I would have made it completely with broken English, but I didn't want you guys to get headaches after reading it.  
> 3\. The above is also the reason why Hanguk's English is sort of flawless. Because he has long paragraphs to himself.  
> 4\. Pepero is the Korean Pocky. Or Pocky is the Japanese Pepero. O_O Bleh. I don't know. It's up to you which country invented it first. They taste the same to me.  
> 5\. Q: Did you draw up sitting arrangements in a map? A: Yes. Yes, I did.  
> 6\. I obviously put up these buffer chapters for those who are weak at heart. Enjoy them while you can, because after the next update, things start to get bumpy again.  
> 7\. You guys still have one chapter to go before the big reveal of "who done it?!?!" so you can keep guessing until then. :P
> 
> Trivia time!  
> Checklist of key attributes the guy who wins at K-dramas usually possess, in case you don't watch them:  
> \- the one that meets the other lead first  
> \- the meaner one (it makes the male lead look dynamic, huzzah!)  
> \- the richer one  
> \- the one the other lead has more chemistry with
> 
> Otherwise, all three characters end up dying. Yep, that's Yong-soo all right.
> 
> Translations:  
> Tsechias = Short for Dimokratía tis Tsechías (Greek)  
> Peulangseu, Faguo, Francie, Prantsusmaa, Prancuzija = France (Korean, Chinese, Czech, Estonian, Lithuanian)  
> Dog-il, Deguo, Nemecko, Saksamaa, Vokietija = Germany (Korean, Chinese, Czech, Estonian, Lithuanian)  
> Yeong-gug, Yingguo, Anglie = England (Korean, Chinese, Czech)  
> (Latvian:)  
> Igaunija = Estonia  
> Cehija = Czech Republic  
> (Czech:)  
> Rakousko = Austria  
> Mad'arsko = Hungary  
> (Chinese:)  
> Ouzhou = Europe  
> Hao bu hao? = lit. Good or not good? In a better translation it would be "is that okay?"  
> Dangran a = Of course  
> Meimao = eyebrows
> 
> And in case you forgot: Hanguo = S. Korea; Hyung = Older brother (only used by males)


End file.
